THE 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


MORE  ESPECIALLY  OF 


ARCHITECTUEE 


LEOPOLD  ETDLITZ 

Architect 


NEW  YORK 

A.  0  ARMSTRONG  &  SON,  714  Beoadway 

LONDON 

SAMPSON  LOW,  MARSTON,  SEARLE  &  RIVINGTON 

1881 

[All  rights  reserved] 


COPYKIGHT, 

1881, 

My  LEOPOLD  EIDLITZ. 


mCS*  Of  t.  J.  IITTLS  li  CO.. 
NOS.  10  TO  *0  ASTOIt  PLACt.  Ntw  TORK. 


PREFACE. 


Art  deals  with  human  emotions.  It  depicts  them 
and  depends  on  them  for  sympathy.  Our  training  in 
the  language  of  art  determines  the  degree  of  sympathy 
we  accord  to  it,  yet  the  rudest  and  most  imcultivated 
beings  are  measurably  subject  to  its  benign  influence. 
This  has  led  to  the  conclusion  that  taste  is  a  common 
endowment,  and,  furthermore,  that  it  is  the  quality 
which  enables  men  to  produce  works  of  art,  as  well 
as  to  judge  them.  The  same  or  a  similar  theory  ap- 
plied to  any  other  form  of  human  activity  would  be 
at  once  recognized  as  fallacious.  Sharp-sighted  jyer- 
sons  do  not  b}'  reason  of  that  advantage  become  as- 
tronomers, nor  those  orators  who  enjoy  eloquence  in 
others.  An  ardent  admirer  of  the  opera  or  the  drama 
would  not  for  that  reason  alone  presume  to  compose 
music  or  a  play,  nor  dare  to  perform  in  either,  but  he 
does  claim  the  right  and  the  ability  to  judge  a  dra- 
matic or  musical  performance  by  his  taste,  a  fallacy 
which,  when  applied  to  a  judgment  in  science,  would 

be  apparent  without  further  argument, 
iii 


iv 


PREFACE. 


To  appeal  successfully  to  human  sympatliy  the 
artist  must  thoroughly  understand  the  idea  which  is 
the  cause  of  emotions,  and  the  relation  of  his  audience 
to  this  idea ;  and  lie  must  be  a  master  in  all  technical 
expedients  needed  to  create  an  intelligible  picture 
whicli  shall  illustrate  the  idea. 

That  an  artist  who  ^ ^-creates  nature  must  be  capable 
of  emotions  cannot  be  doubted  or  denied,  but  it  is 
equally  true,  that  during  the  process  of  ^^^-creation  in 
art  the  artist  must  be  the  master  and  not  the  victim 
of  the  emotions  he  delineates. 

There  is  much  current  talk  of  enthusiasm  in  art,  of 
genius  and  talent,  which  tends  to  delude  the  layman, 
and  the  would-be  artist  too,  into  the  belief  that  these 
gifts  of  nature  are  mainly  or  alone  sufficient  to  enable 
man  to  do  art  work,  and  also  to  appreciate  its  intrinsic 
merit.  This  is  a  fatal  error.  It  is  the  welcome  delusion 
of  moral  laziness,  which  longs  to  believe  that  artists 
are  created,  and  not  made.  No  amount  of  attitudiniz- 
ing and  fine  frenzy  will  enable  man  to  produce  or 
understand  works  of  fine  art,  but  careful  study  and 
technical  training  are  needed  to  accomplish  this  ob- 
ject. 

It  is  quite  clear  that  man  is  assisted  in  learning  by 
natural  aptness  for  and  enthusiastic  love  of  art,  but 
learn  he  must  in  order  to  produce ;  the  mere  feeling 
vnll  not  lielp  him  there.  But,  says  the  man  of  taste, 
I  can  paint  a  portrait,  and  my  feelings  tell  me  when 
I  am  wrong,  Avhere  the  likeness  is  defective^  and  I  can 


PREFACE. 


V 


in  this  manner  eliminate  the  wrong  until  I  arrive  at 
the  right.  This  is  indeed  the  method  by  which  man 
as  a  genus  has  arrived  at  his  present  perfection  in  art. 
Cosmic  knowledge  is  made  up  of  individual  failures 
and  experience  throughout  historic  time.  But  it  is 
idle  to  enact  history  over  again  in  the  compass  of  a 
single  life. 

Architecture  not  only  neglects  the  knowledge  of 
ideas  as  they  exist  at  present,  and  the  cultivation  of 
possible  ideas  and  their  attendant  emotions,  but  it  also 
treats  with  contempt  the  technical  development  of 
monuments,  relying  entirely  for  art  expression  upon 
structural  forms  as  they  have  existed  in  the  past.  This 
indicates  the  opinion,  which  is,  however,  not  professed 
in  words,  that  Architecture  is  no  longer  capable  of 
determining  its  own  forms,  but  that  this  process  was 
exhausted  at  least  three  hundred  years  ago. 

The  arcliitect  is  educated  to  be  an  admirer  of  past 
forms,  most  frequently  of  the  forms  of  some  special 
historic  era,  and  his  art  creed  may  be  summed  up  in 
the  belief  that  by  the  use  of  these  forms  he  must  pro- 
duce something  which  by  its  lights  and  shades  sliall 
be  pleasing  to  him,  or,  as  he  states  it,  shall  gratify  his 
taste. 

With  this  he  hopes  that  it  will  also  gratify  the  taste 
of  an  intelligent  public,  which  is  endowed  with  taste 
also,  but  in  a  less  degree  than  the  architect.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  the  architectural  forms  thus  applied  may 
be  enhanced  in  ai-t  value  by  the  sculptor  and  painter, 


vi 


PREFACE. 


and  may  be  endowed  with  stability  by  the  builder  or 
engineer,  but  that  in  the  main  the  tendencies  of  these 
latter  persons  are  in  a  direction  contrary  to  that  of  art, 
and  their  work  must  be  concealed  or  dissembled. 

Under  these  conditions  it  is  not  surprising  that 
Architecture  vegetates  somewhat  in  the  manner  of  a 
dead  language,  which  has  served  once  to  express  grand 
ideas,  but  which  is  now  but  imperfectly  studied  and 
injudiciously  applied  to  vernacular  uses.  That,  in 
spite  of  this  demoi-alization  of  the  art,  there  are  pro- 
duced isolated  monuments  which  command  our  respect, 
if  not  our  enthusiasm,  must  be  referred  to  the  fact 
that  earnest  and  able  minds  in  the  profession,  and  out 
of  it,  are  conscious  that  Architecture  must  be  some- 
thing more  than  an  archa3ological  toy-shop ;  and  that, 
although  we  are  now  floating  in  waters  littered  with 
the  tangled  weed  of  prejudice  and  error,  there  is  be- 
yond an  open  sea,  where  we  shall  again  sail  whither- 
soever the  business  of  our  voyage  calls  us,  and  direct 
the  helm  of  our  craft  with  a  firm  hand. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  this  is  an  age  eminently 
unpoetical — given  to  abstract  philosophical  inquiry, 
and  that  for  that  reason  Architecture  may  not  prosper. 
This  is  tme  to  the  extent,  at  least,  that  the  outward 
exj^ression  of  human  relations  is  not,  in  our  time,  poet- 
ically conceived,  and  has  its  causes  in  special  errors  of 
the  times,  but  not  in  a  lack  of  human  ability  to  foster 
poetical  thought.  Our  great  advances  in  music  beyond 
the  past,  and  the  very  respectable  success  which  has 


PREFACE, 


vii 


been  attained  in  poetry,  painting,  and  also  to  some 
extent  in  sculpture,  are  proof  positive  tliat  the  aggre- 
gate of  art  ability,  and  success  of  the  nineteentb  cent- 
ury, is,  if  not  in  advance,  at  least,  equal  to  that  of  any 
known  era  in  human  history.  Architecture  alone  has 
ceased  to  be  a  living  art.  Aside  from  all  other  con- 
siderations of  its  present  state  and  merit,  architects 
have  certainly  ceased  to  think  and  to  express  thoughts 
in  architectural  monuments. 

Now  Architecture  is  a  species  of  language.  It  tells 
us  as  much  of  Greece  as  Homer  did,  and  of  the  Middle 
Ages  more  than  has  been  expressed  in  literature  ;  yet 
it  has  been  silent  since  the  thirteenth  century.  Since 
then  Society,  the  State,  and  the  Church  have  made  great 
progress.  Literature,  music,  painting,  and  sculpture 
will  convey  to  posterity  a  bright  record  of  modern 
civilization  and  mental  development.  Yet  the  history 
of  the  Reformation,  of  the  discovery  of  America,  of  the 
great  advance  of  constitutional  government  and  of 
individual  liberty,  of  the  developments  of  science,  the 
mechanic  arts,  agriculture,  and  trade,  within  the  last 
five  hundred  years,  is  nowhere  expressed  in  Architect- 
ure. Architecture  alone  is  silent.  No  !  Not  silent,  for 
nothing  done  by  man  with  premeditation  fails  to  ex- 
press something,  and  the  monuments  of  the  last  four 
centuries  express  this:  that  Architecture  has  either 
ceased  to  speak  of  living  ideas,  or  that  modern  archi- 
tects do  not  comprehend  the  ideas  of  the  times.  The 
mechanic  art  of  building  never  stood  higher  than  it 


viii 


PREFACE. 


does  in  its  present  perfection  of  theory  and  practice. 
The  architect  alone  ignores  its  treasures,  and  continues 
to  build  as  men  did  two  thousand  years  ago,  or  per- 
haps not  to  build  at  all ;  for  he  deems  this  part  of  his 
work  unworthy  of  his  earnest  solicitude.  Whenever 
he  resorts  to  modem  engineering,  he  abandons  his  art 
as  inapplicable ;  when  he  attempts  the  pursuit  of  Archi- 
tecture as  a  fine  art,  he  evades  scrupulously  all  modem 
construction. 

It  is  the  object  of  this  volume  to  inquire  into  the 
causes  of  the  present  condition  of  Architecture ;  to  de- 
fine the  nature  and  function  of  Art  in  general,  and  of 
Architecture  in  particular,  in  order  to  show  how  Archi- 
tecture may  again  become  a  living  and  creative  art. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


Preface  

Introduction, 


HI 

xvii 


PART  1. 


PEESEXT  CONDITION  OF  AROHITECTUEE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

COMMOiq-  SEKSE  AITD  TASTE. 

The  questions  which  man  asks  of  nature. — Two  methods  of  answering 
them. — The  nature  of  the  accumulated  knowledge  of  each  of  these 
methods. — The  nature  of  common  sense  as  popularly  understood. — 
Its  failure  to  draw  sound  conclusions  from  observed  phenomena. — 
Its  conceit  and  opposition  to  art.  — Taste.  What  its  import   3 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  AIM  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 

The  demand  for  a  new  style. — Conditions  under  which  a  new  style 
would  be  possible. — Mr.  Ruskin's  views  on  this  subject. — Architec- 
tural practice  and  opinions   33 


Popular  definition  of  taste. — It  is  variable. — It  may  be  cultivated. — 
Instances  of  the  display  of  popular  taste. — Taste  of  the  archi- 
tect.— Its  influence  upon  his  opinions,  his  studies  and  his  composi- 


CHAPTER  III. 


TASTE. 


tions.— The  taste  of  the  critic, 


44 


ix 


X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


ARCHITECTURE. 

PAGE 

Erroneous  definitions  of  architecture.— Ruskin.—Hosking.— Fergus- 
son. — Architecture  as  an  art  misunderstood   51 


CHAPTER  V. 
ILLOGICAL  REASONING. 

Erroneous  views  on  proportion  by  Vitruvius.— Fergusson  on  proportion. — 
Proportion  of  spaces  relates  to  their  function,  and  the  proportion 
of  masses  to  mechanical  laws. — Ruskin  on  the  Gothic  arch  and  on 
Iron  as  a  building  material. — Sir  Gilbert  Scott  on  Gothic  architec- 
ture  59 


CHAPTER  VI. 


STYLES  AND  FASHIONS. 

Impressions  produced  by  his  education  upon  the  architect. — Styles  and 
the  fashions  a  parallel   72 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ARCHITECTURE  AND  ITS  PATRONS. 

The  architect  submits  his  compositions  for  the  approval  of  laymen  be- 
fore they  are  executed. — The  nature  of  the  error  committed  in  so 
doing  ,   84 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MATERIALISM  IN  THE  CHURCH. 

Selfishness  in  the  gratification  of  physical  needs. — The  ti-ue  meaning  of 
an  architectural  monument. — The  Ideal  use  of  a  structure. — Practi- 
cal views  of  the  times  on  tliis  subject. — How  the  practical  man 
essays  to  build  a  house,  and  how  he  succeeds   88 


CONTENTS, 


xi 


PART  II. 

NATUKE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  AET. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


IS  AET  NECESSARY  i 

PAGE 

What  are  human  necessities? — Are  ideas  human  necessities? — Who  are 
the  teachers  of  ideas? — Lamartine  on  Homer   99 


CHAPTER  X. 


MATTER. 

Hegel's  classification  of  art. — Music  and  sculpture  compared. — The 
function  of  matter  in  art   110 


CHAPTER  XL 


ESTHETICS. 


Esthetics   115 

CHAPTER  XII. 


ART. 


1.  The  phenomena  known  as  art.  2.  The  definition  of  art.  3.  Defini- 
tion of  fine  art.  4.  Definition  of  mechanic  or  industrial  art.  5. 
How  an  idea  is  rendered  in  science,  and  how  in  art.  6.  Definition 
of  the  technics  of  art.  7.  The  relation  of  the  emotion  to  the 
idea  and  to  art.  8.  Physical  function  of  an  emotion.  9.  Ideas 
are  derived  from  sensuous  perception.  10.  Expression  in  art. 
11.  Knowledge  conveyed  by  art.  12.  Creative  force  in  art.  13 
The  nature  of  Beauty.  14.  The  popular  explanation  of  taste. 
15.  The  true  nature  of  taste.  16.  Is  taste  universal?  17.  Causes 
of  the  pleasurable  emotion  outside  of  Art.  18.  The  pleasurable 
emotion  caused  by  a  work  of  fine  art  proportional  in  quantity  to 
the  art  force  perceived.  19.  Pleasurable  emotion  experienced  in 
the  absence  of  a  knowledge  of  the  idea  materialized  in  art.  20.  Is 
taste  a  natural  sense  possessed  by  all?  21.  Is  it  a  natural  sense 
possessed  by  some  persons  exceptionally  ?   22.  The  function  of  art.  121 


xii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
OF  BEAUTY. 

PAGE 

Mundt  on  Winckelmann. — The  pleasurable  emotion. — Beauty. — Pleasur- 
able emotion  caused  by  phenomena  not  connected  with  art. — The 
nature  of  Beauty.— Plato.  — Socrates. — Aristotle.— Baumgarten. — 
Schiller. —  Leveque. —  Ilemsterhuis. —  Lord  Shaftesbury. —  Various 
speculations  on  Beauty.  —  Definition  of  Beauty  as  derived  from  the 
nature  and  function  of  art.— Are  Beauty  and  Expression  convertible 
in  Art? — Definition  of  the  Ugly,  the  Ludicrous  and  the  Sublime. . . .  141 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
THE  IDEAL  AND  IMITATION. 

Prevailing  misconceptions  of  the  meaning  of  the  Ideal  and  Imitation  in 
Art.  —  Explanation  of  the  Ideal.  —  Explanation  of  Imitation. — 
Imitation  in  Architecture   164 

CHAPTER  XV. 

SCIENCE  AND  AKT. 

Science.— The  Human  Will.— Science  and  Art  a  parallel.— Cause.— Art 
is  knowledge. — We  do  not  seek  Art  for  the  knowledge  it  imparts. 
— Art  force  and  Beauty. — Demonstration  of  an  Idea  in  matter. — 
The  nature  of  Ideas  in  Art. — Mechanic  Art. — Ideas  conveyed 
by  mechanic  Art. — The  pleasurable  emotion  not  a  reliable  guide  to 
Art. — Genius,  in  how  far  it  is  a  help  in  Art   173 


PART  III. 
NATURE  OF  ARCHITEOTUEE. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 

Definition  of  Architecture.— How  a  Structure  performs  an  act. — Mr. 
Thomas  Hope  on  the  Idml  in  Architecture. — Imitation  in  Archi- 
tecture.— Relation  of  Mechanical  Construction  to  Architecture  ....  211 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
IDEAS. 

PAGE 

What  is  an  idea? — Space  and  time. — The  infinite  and  immaterial. — 
Ethical  ideas. — Memory. — Emotion. — Expression  of  the  human 
form  in  dress. — Abstract  knowledge  and  the  knowledge  of  art. — 
Ideas  of  the  Church.— Views  of  the  Clergy   238 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
MOIiJ^UMENTS. 

Definition  of  a  monument.  —  Conscientiousness  in  composition. — Im- 
proper mechanical  construction. — Self-denial. — Construction. — Form 
of  the  monument. — Monuments  of  the  past. — Ideas. — Sacraments 
inherent  in  nature. — Architecture  still  in  its  infancy. — Magnitude. 
— Towers. — Symmetry. — The  monument  proper  247 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

FOEM  AKD  CONSTRUCTIOIT. 

Definition  of  construction. — Cells,  Groups  and  Piles. — Treatment  of  co- 
ordinate single  Cells. — Erroneous  views  on  the  function  of  con- 
struction in  Architecture. — Fergusson  on  mouldings  and  construc- 
tion.— Construction  the  basis  of  composition. — Modelling  of  masses. 
— Its  purpose  and  methods. — Motives  which  govern  the  modern  arch- 
itect in  his  composition. — Literal  imitation  of  old  art  forms  under 
new  conditions  practically  impossible. — Illustration  269 

CHAPTER  XX. 
PROPOETIOK. 

Definition  of  proportion  in  Architecture. — How  the  architect  may  deter- 
mine the  masses  of  a  monument. — Can  we  determine  proper  pro- 
portions by  the  appearance  of  an  Architectural  design  without  a 
mechanical  analysis  ?— Proportion  of  spaces,  rooms,  etc. — Fergus- 
son's  view  of  proportion  illustrative  of  frivolous  Art  logic. — Pro- 


portions of  the  Cathedrals   292 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
TREATMENT  OF  MASSES. 

Symmetry. — Stability. — Mass. — Material. — Facing  inferior  masonry  with 
slabs  of  superior  material. — Iron  buildings   307 


xiv 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 
CARVED  OENAMENT  AND  COLOR  DECORATION. 

PAGE 

The  function  of  carved  ornament.  —  Tlie  law  which  governs  its 
arrangement. — The  function  of  color. — Tints. — How  they  are  to 
be  produced,  and  the  law  which  governs  their  intensity. — Animal 
and  Vegetable  forms  in  Architectural  decoration.  —  Why  are  they 
conventionalized  and  how  ?   316 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
STYLE. 

Nature  of  Architectural  knowledge  which  may  be  derived  from  styles. — 
The  authors  of  the  Renaissance  and  their  views  on  mediaeval  Archi- 
tecture—Attainments of  mediaeval  Architecture. — Why  they  are 
abandoned  by  the  Renaissance  School   330 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

STYLE. — Continued. 

Gothic  revival,  its  work  and  its  failures. — The  pursuit  of  styles. — Its 
origin  and  the  reason  why  it  did  not  lead  to  the  development  of  new 
Architectural  forms.— The  errors  of  the  popular  definition  of  the 
various  styles. — The  salient  characteristics  of  the  Greek,  Roman, 
Romanesque  and  Gothic  styles. — Can  Style  be  maintained  in  a 
living  and  progressive  Architecture  ? — If  a  Structui'e  is  partially 
erected  in  a  style  incapable  of  rendering  the  Idea  to  be  expressed, 
may  we  change  the  style  during  its  erection  ? — What  is  the  past  prac- 
tice in  similar  cases?   352 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
ANALYSIS. 

Reason  and  Emotion.— Their  relation  to  analysis  in  Architecture.— The 
Architect's  habit  of  accepting  completed  forms  as  a  basis  of  Art 
impairs  his  logic. — Ho  accepts  the  form  of  an  argument  as  the  argu- 
ment itself. — Mr.  Fergussou's  Table  of  Arts. — If  styles  are  aban- 
doned, how  are  forms  to  be  developed  ? — What  can  we  learn  of  old 
forms  ? — Vaulting  of  roofs. — Wood  constructions. — Single  cells 
and  their  combinations  into  groups. — Modelling,  carved  ornament 
and  color  decoration   383 


CONTENTS, 


XV 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
CRITICISM. 

PAGE 

"Definition  of  criticism. — Creative  force. — How  it  should  be  estimated. 
— Rules  of  criticism. — Application  of  these  rules  to  the  cathedrals  of 
Cologne  and  Milan. — Criticism  on  these  monuments  by  Fergusson 
andKugler   420 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CULTIYATIOK  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 

Why  persons  devote  themselves  to  the  study  of  Architecture. — The 
effect  of  an  Architectural  drawing  is  no  criterion  of  the  Art  merit 
possessed  by  the  monument  it  represents.  —  No  Architectural  drawing 
conveys  an  adequate  idea  of  a  system  of  lighting  of  an  interior.  — 
How  laymen  judge  of  Architectural  designs. — Art  talk. — Dra- 
matic acting  and  musical  composition. — Education  of  the  archi- 
tect.—Architects  must  build  more  and  draw  less. — Relation  of  form 
to  function   455 


INTRODUCTION. 


In  the  search  after  truth,  man  meets  with  errors  in 
the  shape  of  seeming  or  partial  truths.  Errors  of  this 
sort  have  passed  current  as  truths  during  every  epoch 
of  intellectual  development,  and  it  has  become  an  im- 
portant branch  of  instruction  to  guard  against  accumu- 
lated errors.  In  order  to  prepare  the  mind  for  the 
reception  of  the  truth,  modern  Science  has  developed 
a  system  of  progress,  the  main  function  of  which  is 
to  avoid  error :  but  beyond  the  scope  of  this  system 
notions  and  prejudices,  sentiment  and  jargon,  still 
hold  their  place  as  temporary  answers  to  vital  ques- 
tions. It  is  true  these  answers  change  from  day  to 
day  in  quality  and  in  kind ;  but  the  supply  is  unlim- 
ited, and  the  crop  plentiful  at  all  times.  If  any  field 
of  human  knowledge  is  to  be  brought  under  cultiva- 
tion, the  work  of  planting  the  good  seed  is  but  small, 
compared  with  the  labor  of  uprooting  weeds  and 
destroying  their  germs. 

Scientific  men  have  disembarrassed  themselves  of 

the  quarrels  of  the  schools,  and  a  truth  established  is 
xvii 


xviii 


INTRODUCTION. 


promptly  admitted  by  all.  Science  maintains  no  rela- 
tion with  the  general  public  beyond  that  of  a  teacher ; 
and  never  appeals  to  it  for  a  confirmation  or  acceptance 
I  of  its  convictions,  simply  because  these  convictions 
'  have  ceased  to  be  personal  opinions.  It  is  not  so  in 
art.  Not  only  has  no  code  of  laws  been  established 
upon  which  her  votaries  are  to  proceed  and  her  works 
are  to  be  judged ;  but  the  principles  have  not  even 
been  settled  upon  which  such  a  code  may  be  formed. 
The  material  out  of  which  principles  can  be  developed 
is  still  in  the  chaotic  state  in  which  it  has  been 
gathered  ;  and  thinking  minds  are  engaged  in  the  task 
of  putting  it  in  some  decent  order.  This  work  has 
advanced  only  to  a  chronological  arrangement  of  exist- 
ing art ;  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  student  of  art 
imagines  this  chronological  order  to  be  a  comjDleted 
system  of  art  philosophy. 

The  followers  of  art  (music  measurably  excepted), 
and  those  of  architecture  in  particular,  are  divided 
into  schools  and  cliques,  which,  having  unbounded 
faith  in  their  own  opinions  but  no  clear  views  or  con- 
victions upon  general  principles  of  art,  constantly 
appeal  to  the  opinion  of  the  public.  This  condition 
of  things  cannot  fail  to  exercise,  and  does  in  fact  exer- 
cise, a  most  baleful  influence  upon  the  progress  of  ai-t. 
The  public  becomes  a  factor  in  retarding  its  devel- 
opment; and  it  is  desirable  therefore  to  review 
the  mental  condition  of  the  masses  in  this  direction. 
Common  sense  and  taste  aj*e  the  mental  faculties 


INTRODUCTION, 


xix 


employed  in  popular  judgment  of  all  phenomena, 
natural  and  artificial.  Taste  is  the  judge  of  art  work, 
and  common  sense  of  all  else  beside.  The  function 
of  common  sense  is  to  observe  phenomena  (facts), 
and  draw  conclusions  therefrom.  Now  this  has  been 
done  by  common  sense  for  the  last  ten  thousand  years 
with  more  or  less  success,  but  with  this  final  result, 
that  it  has  discovered  vast  errors  of  sensuous  percep- 
tion (observation  of  facts),  and  has  devised  means  of 
guarding  against  many  of  these  errors  and  methods, 
of  making  due  allowance  for  others  which  cannot  be 
avoided,  also  a  system  of  argument  which  ensures  sound 
conclusions,  and,  finally,  a  respectable  series  of  tests, 
by  which  the  accuracy  of  these  conclusions  may  be 
established  or  disproved.  The  peculiarity  of  the  com- 
mon sense  of  the  nineteenth  century  is  the  firm  belief 
that  it  can  perform  its  work  quite  as  well,  in  fact,  bet- 
ter and  quicker  without  the  accumulated  results  of  the 
common  sense  of  the  past.  This  is  not  only  very  sin- 
gular, but  is  pregnant  with  untold  danger  to  truth. 
.Taste  is  supposed  to  be  the  capability  to  experience 
a  pleasurable  emotion  in  the  presence  of  a  work  of 
art.  This  capability  is  claimed  by  every  one,  and  is 
freely  made  the  test  of  the  merit  of  art  work. 

As  may  be  imagined,  taste  and  common  sense  have 
exercised  great  influence  upon  art.  This  influence  it 
is  intended  to  discuss.  At  present,  it  is  only  necessary 
to  say,  that  the  conclusion  reached  by  taste  and  com- 
mon sense  with  reference  to  art  is  that  the  nature  of 


XX 


INTRODUCTION. 


art  cannot  well  be  defined ;  and  tliat  it  performs  no 
function  in  tlie  social  economy  excepting,  peiiaps,  that 
it  affords  the  aforesaid  pleasurable  emotion :  and,  as 
this  pleasurable  emotion  is  of  a  transient  character 
and  of  intangible  value,  it  remains  to  be  concluded 
that  art  is  superfluous,  and  can  well  -be  dispensed 
with.  Common  sense  adds  to  this,  on  its  own  account, 
the  dictum  that  art  is  not  susceptible  of  critical  ex- 
amination, and  must,  as  the  offspring  of  the  imagin- 
ation and  a  morbid  sentiment,  be  abandoned  in  this 
age  of  reason.  And  but  for  a  few  individuals  who 
wield  considerable  influence  in  society,  and  who  unac- 
countably seem  to  perceive  in  art  not  only  a  needful 
civilizing  influence,  but  also  a  value  measurable  in 
money,  common  sense  would  inevitably  abolish  it  from 
the  face  of  the  earth. 

To  devise  remedies  which  shall  arrest  the  decay  of 
art,  and  especially  of  architecture,  to  arrive  at  a  clear 
understanding  of  its  nature  and  function,  and  to  mature 
a  system  which  shall  direct  its  practice  in  the  right 
channel,  it  becomes  necessary,  first,  to  review  the  pecu- 
liarities of  its  present  condition,  the  views  held  by  the 
public,  and  more  especially  by  those  who  are  recog- 
nized as  of  authority  on  such  matters;  to  examine  the 
relation  of  the  professional  architect  to  his  client,  to 
the  public  at  large,  and  more  especially  to  the  church, 
which  has  ever  been  the  greatest  patron  of  architecture ; 
and,  finally,  to  consider  the  existing  theory  of  art  in 
general,  and  its  influence  upon  architecture.  The 


I 

INTRODUCTION. 


xxi 


philosopliy  of  art  has  heretofore  mainly  discussed  the 
nature  of  beauty,  and  of  the  pleasurable  emotions 
caused  by  it,  with  sole  reference  to  the  relation  of 
these  two  phenomena,  and  without  taking  cognizance 
of  the  intellectual  function  and  meaning  of  art.  That 
art  deals  with  ideas,  is  universally  admitted;  but  it 
seems  desirable  to  know  exactly  how  the  idea  is  finally 
expressed  in  matter :  that  is,  how  it  assumes  a  physi- 
cal form.  The  exact  definition  of  this  process  may 
lead  to  a  better  understanding  of  the  nature  of  beauty, 
and  hence,  also,  to  the  nature  and  function  of  art. 

The  boundary  between  the  industrial  arts  and  the 
fine  arts,  the  properties  possessed  in  common  by  works 
of  fine  art  and  those  of  nature,  and  the  exact  meaning 
of  the  ideal,  of  imitation,  of  the  ugly,  the  ludicrous, 
and  the  sublime,  depend  upon  a  clear  understanding 
of  the  materialized  idea,  as  we  find  it  in  art. 

Architecture  demands  special  consideration  to  show 
the  application  to  it  of  the  law  of  the  ideal  and  imita- 
tion as  governing  art  in  general ;  and,  further,  to  elicit 
the  exact  conditions  of  proportion,  and  the  use  of 
carved  ornament  and  color  decoration. 

If  architecture  is  to  be  a  living  and  creative  art,  the 
study  of  styles  must  be  directed  to  the  art  principles 
manifested  in  the  relation  of  their  forms  to  contempo- 
rary ideas  and  knowledge  of  construction,  to  the  end 
that  new  forms,  based  upon  modern  ideas  and  the 
present  development  of  construction,  may  supersede 
the  forms  of  the  past. 


xxii 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  ideas  of  tte  present  day  are  not  expressed  in 
our  monuments.  Tliis  may  be  owing  to  the  nature  of 
those  ideas  and  to  the  outward  forms  which  they  as- 
sume ;  and  it  is  proper  to  inquire  into  that. 

Criticism,  when  no  longer  under  the  dominion  of 
taste,  must  be  deputed  to  reason,  based  upon  recognized 
art  princijDles,  and  henceforth  must  become  analysis. 

From  the  foregoing  may  be  deduced  what  is  needed 
for  the  cultivation  of  art,  and  more  especially  of  archi- 
tecture, in  the  studies  and  in  the  professional  practice 
of  the  architect. 


Fi^RT  I. 


PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  AECHITECTURE. 


CHAPTEE  I. 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE. 

Theke  are  men  wlio  believe  not  in  God,  but  they  all 
believe  in  tbeir  own  "common  sense"  and  "taste." 
God  made  the  universe,  and  man  has,  from  time  to  time, 
caught  stray  glimpses  of  it,  and  hence  thought  himself 
wise.  This  universe  is  beautiful,  and  man,  recognizing 
this  fact,  thinks  he  has  taste  (a  faculty  to  discover  beau- 
ty). This  universe  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  dream  about ; 
but  to  talk  about  it  is  sheer  impudence,  for  the  wisest 
have  seen  but  a  very  minute  portion  of  it,  and  none 
of  us  can  say  with  certainty  that  we  see  any  part  of 
it,  no  matter  how  small,  with  sufficient  discernment  to 
say  that  we  have  seen  it  rightly,  that  we  know  it 
well,  even  this  little  part  of  it.  We  know  not  even 
ourselves,  either  physically  or  mentally.  We  see  the 
sun  rise,  and  the  flowers  as  they  grow;  we  see  the 
crystallization  of  matter,  and  the  vast  diversity  of 
things  alike.  Some  of  us  see  the  earth  move  in  its 
orbit  around  the  sun,  while  others  have  gone  so  far  as. 
to  detect  the  sun  moving  among  the  stars.  We  find 
it  all  very  beautiful,  because  of  the  great  mind  which 
everywhere  moves  matter  in  obedience  to  law.  When 
we  sum  up,  however,  the  substance  of  cosmic  knowl- 
edge, of  the  little  all  some  of  us  do  know,  the  knowl- 
edge laboriously  accumulated  from  time  to  time,  and 
compare  it  with  the  magnitude  of  the  questions  we 
would  fain  ask  of  nature,  and  with  the  answers  that 

3 


4    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


are  hidden  from  us,  and  which,  at  the  rate  at  which 
we  have  lifted  the  curtain  from  the  mystic  face  of 
nature,  will  probably  remain  hidden  from  man  for  all 
time,  we  must  come  to  the  conclusion  that  our  boasted 
knowledge  is  but  a  feeble  glimmer  of  the  great  light, 
and  that  our  overwhelming  sense  of  its  beauty  must 
be  the  merest  foreshadowing  of  gigantic  glories,  the 
vision  of  which  our  poor  mortal  frame  is  not  capable 
of  entertaining. 

In  olden  times,  when  man  was  more  childlike  than 
he  is  now,  he  worshipped  the  sun,  and  brought  offer- 
ings to  it  upon  altars  erected  in  the  woods — for  of  all 
the  things  which  he  could  see,  the  sun  had  done,  and 
was  constantly  doing  more  for  him  than  all  else  beside. 
Perchance  he  knew  that  there  was  a  power  beyond 
the  sun ;  that,  at  least,  the  sun  was  but  a  part  of  a 
whole  greater  than  itself ;  perhaps  he  knew  not  and 
did  not  dare  to  presume  upon  that  which  he  did  not 
know,  and  so,  whenever  he  met  in  nature  friendly 
help,  or  opposing  forces,,  he  painted  pictures  in  child- 
like simplicity  of  forms  of  man  and  beast,  and  of 
natural  things,  which  kept  before  his  mind  those 
things  as  things  that  no  doubt  are^  and  as  things 
which  we  may  picture,  though  we  may  not  know 
them.  And,  as  man  learned  to  use  his  senses,  and  as 
his  intercourse  with  man  and  things  brought  to  his 
mind's  eye  innumerable  complications  and  perplex- 
ities, things  to  battle  against  and  to  overcome,  things 
to  be  overcome  by,  relations  which  brought  hun  joy, 
and  others  which  overwhelmed  him  with  sorrow, 
relations  with  things  which  he  could  see,  hear,  or  feel, 
but  not  understand,  then  this  world  became  peopled 
for  him  with  powerful  beings,  giants,  monsters,  gods, 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE. 


5 


demons,  with  shadows,  spirits,  goblins,  witli  men  and 
women  of  good  and  evil  intent,  beings  of  tlie  woods 
and  of  tbe  fields,  of  empty  space,  of  darkness,  and  of 
light,  of  the  water  and  of  the  air,  thousands  of  un- 
seen and  unheard-of  existences,  constantly  busy  inter- 
fering and  regulating  his  poor  life,  and  punishing, 
rewarding,  and  guiding  him  throughout  every  step  of 
it,  and,  perchance,  far  beyond  the  grave  throughout 
eternity.  It  is  worth  considering,  this  childlike  con- 
dition of  man,  which  admits  that  it  knows  but  little, 
and  that  it  dreams  of  much  more,  a  dream  of  multi- 
tudinous forms  which  are  somehow  more  closely  in- 
terwoven with  his  life  than  the  scanty  things  he  does 
know.  Man  must  supply  himself  with  forms  of  things 
he  knows  not  of ;  he  cannot  think  of  them  as  things 
unknown,  or  else  they  would  not  be  things  at  all. 
He  will  have  them  endowed  with  features,  qualities, 
powers,  caprices,  passions,  and  virtues,  as  the  imagina- 
tion mixed  with  slight  actual  experience  may  prompt. 
Man  is  driven  by  nature  and  by  his  fellow  men,  and 
if  he  is  tempted,  and  pressed,  and  hurt,  and  pun- 
ished, he  is  again  made  whole,  and  nursed  and  made 
strong  by  powers  apparently  outside  of  him,  powers 
ever  stronger  than  himself,  powers  alike,  whether  they 
treat  him  lovingly  or  whether  they  rise  up  and  oppose 
him  in  his  path,  always  prevailing  unless  he  be  pro- 
tected by  other  powers,  equally  mysterious,  equally 
unfathomable.  Man,  in  this  childlike  frame  of  mind, 
found  that  all  things  were  his  masters,  the  air,  the  sea, 
and  the  earth,  all  the  elements  and  the  stars  above 
him,  all  stronger  than  himself,  and  he  ranged  them 
all  in  various  forms,  human  and  otherwise,  as  a  series 
of  governing  powers  which  commanded  his  fate.  Is 


6    P  BE  SENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


there  not  wisdom  in  this  dread  of  the  unknown,  this 
regard  of  powers  stronger  than  ourselves  ?  Would 
it  not  have  been  the  height  of  folly  to  say,  "I  know 
but  little,  and  beyond  this  little  which  I  know 
there  is  nothing "  ?  A  conception,  no  matter  how 
imperfect,  of  the  thing  we  do  not  positively  know,  is 
not  the  philosophic  solution  of  a  question ;  but  what 
if  the  question  cannot  be  philosophically  solved,  and 
the  thing  is  pressing  upon  us  on  every  side,  is  driving 
us  well  nigh  to  despair,  shall  Ave  say  it  is  nothing, 
because  we  know  it  not ;  or  may  we  not  reverently 
dream  about  it,  and  on  finding  that  it  hurts  us,  say 
that  it  is  terrible,  and  on  finding  it  befriends  us,  say 
that  it  is  beneficent,  kind,  loving,  and  lovable  ?  And 
then  again,  if  we  can  paint  a  picture  of  it  in  our 
imagination,  in  words  or  in  any  way,  may  we  not 
master  it  in  so  far  that  we  may  better  understand  it, 
establish  relations  with  it,  at  least  shape  our  course 
with  reference  to  some  sort  of  tangible  existence, 
which  performs  a  certain  end,  so  far,  at  least,  as  we  are 
concerned  ? 

Now  mark  how  wonderful !  That  man,  in  his  sim- 
plicity and  ignorance,  may  boldly  ask  of  nature  any 
question  whatever,  and  receive  an  answer  to  it.  A 
true  answer  too  !  Not  as  a  whole,  perhaps,  and  it 
may  not  be  the  whole  truth,  but  it  is  true  for  the 
questioner  and  for  the  time  being.  And  his  time  is 
very  short.  It  is  equally  wonderful  how  tenacious- 
ly man  clings  to  these  crude  expressions  of  nature, 
when  once  he  has  learned  to  know  them.  He  be- 
lieves in  them  because  they  are  true,  and  then  again  he 
believes  in  them  kno^ving;  them  not  to  be  true.  St.  Au- 
gustine  declai*ed  that  it  was  nothing  to  believe  that  the 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE, 


7 


wliale  swallowed  Jonah,  for  lie  would  glory  in  believing 
tliat  Jonali  swallowed  the  whale.  Doubt  a  man's  scien- 
tific knowledge,  tell  him  that  the  earth  is  not  revolv- 
ing around  the  sun,  that  you  can  see  for  yourseK  that 
it  is  the  sun  which  is  revolving  round  the  earth,  and 
that  your  common  sense  tells  you  to  believe  in  what 
you  see ;  he  will  not  be  angry  vnth  you  on  that  ac- 
count ;  he  may  try  to  explain  the  matter  to  you;  but  if 
you  cannot  comprehend  it,  he  will  pursue  you  no  far- 
ther ;  he  vdll  certainly  not  hurt  you  because  you  do  not 
see  things  as  he  does.  Tell  him,  on  the  other  hand, 
that  you  do  not  believe  in  transubstantiation,  and  he 
will  burn  you  alive  and  glory  in  it.  It  is  wonderful, 
too,  how  prolific  time  has  been  in  these  productions  of 
the  human  imagination,  as  compared  with  the  positive 
knowledge  acquired  in  the  same  time,  how  beautifully 
some  of  them  have  been  painted,  true  works  of  art,  pic- 
tures in  words,  in  stone,  and  on  canvas.  What  is 
most  wonderful  of  all  is,  how  beautiful  and  beneficent 
they  still  are,  after  they  have  ceased  to  command  im- 
plicit belief,  and  their  mythical  character  is  recognized 
by  all.  Homer  has  made  many  converts  to  morality, 
and  spurred  on  many  youths  to  lead  a  noble  life  since 
the  belief  in  Polytheism  has  ceased.  It  may  be  as- 
serted, without  fear  of  contradiction,  that  the  moral  in- 
fluence of  the  Bible  will  continue  for  all  time. 

We  may  single  out  as  very  wonderful  and  curious  this 
fact,  that  whenever  a  strong  mind  discovers  one  of  these 
great  poetical  thoughts  to  be  inconsistent  in  part  or  in 
whole  with  philosophic  reasoning,  when  he  becomes 
so  convinced  of  this  as  to  make  it  appear  to  him  a  de- 
ceit practiced  upon  himself  and  others,  he  at  once  re- 
pudiates all  true  thought,  aU  moral  merit  developed 


8     PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


in  it,  and  declares  war  against  this  idea,  doctrine, 
dogma,  tradition,  legend,  or  whatever  it  may  be 
called.  And  yet,  while  fighting  this  isolated  idea  on 
the  ground  that  it  is  not  absolutely  or  wholly  true,  he 
cherishes  a  thousand  others  of  the  same  kind  enthusi- 
astically, which  are  equally  unsound,  and  he  is  ready 
to  die  in  their  defense.  Take,  for  instance,  Martin 
Luther.  The  practice  of  selling  indulgences  as  Tetzel 
did  was  rather  a  vulgar  way  of  dealing  with  the  con- 
fession of  sins  and  their  divine  pardon.  It  did  not  dif- 
fer, however,  in  principle  from  the  old  method  as 
practiced  in  the  Catholic  Church  before  Luther's  time, 
or  as  practiced  in  that  Church  to-day.  That  man 
should  confess,  and  be  forgiven,  is  as  just  a  dogma 
as  that  confession  implies  repentance.  To  buy  abso- 
lution for  a  price  is  a  confession  of  sin  of  the  most 
valid  kind,  and  no  doubt  sincere,  for  no  man  would 
part  with  his  substance  did  he  not  feel  that  he  had 
sinned,  and  that  sin  is  a  grievous  thing.  What  was 
Luther's  objection  to  all  this  ?  Not  to  the  confession, 
nor  to  the  forgiveness  of  sin.  It  was  the  suspicion 
that  the  forgiveness  of  sin,  after  all,  had  less  to  do 
with  the  transaction  than  the  raising  of  money,  and 
the  further  suspicion  that  the  Pope  did  not  spend 
this  money  altogether  for  the  good  of  the  Church. 
Did  Luther  thereupon  analyze  his  knowledge,  and 
cast  out  as  unworthy  all  that  was  not  absolute  ?  It  is 
true  that  he  doubted  the  sacrament  of  celibacy  suffi- 
ciently to  take  unto  himself  a  wife ;  but  beyond  that 
it  would  not  be  difficult  to  enumerate  a  long  list  of 
erroneous  thoughts  to  which  Martin  Luther  vigorously 
clung ;  let  us  mention  the  devil^  at  whom  he  threw  an 
inkstand. 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE, 


9 


Now  wliat  happens  next  is  most  curious  of  all. 
After  Martin  Luther  has  discovered  the  indelicacy  of 
selling  absolutions,  the  little  minds  all  over  Europe 
begin  to  doubt  all  things ;  small  minds  become  upset, 
and  think  that  they  have  somehow  helped  Martin  Lu- 
ther in  his  great  discovery,  and  that  they  are  possessed 
of  common  sense  by  which  they  can  Judge  all  things 
as  well  as  those  things  can  be  judged  of  with  the 
help  of  God  or  of  the  accumulated  knowledge  of  man. 

The  principal  gods  now  worshipped  throughout  the 
civilized  world  are  individual  common  sense,  taste, 
public  opinion,  and  the  voice  of  the  majority.  • 

Think  of  individual  common  sense,  and  let  us  deal 
justly  with  it.  Let  us  admit  at  once  that  a  drop  of 
water  is  water,  as  much  as  an  ocean.  But  a  million 
of  drops  do  not  make  an  ocean.  If  we  need  an  ocean, 
it  will  not  do  for  a  drop  of  water  to  say,  I  am  an 
ocean,  nor  for  a  million  of  drops  together.  And  when 
we  have  admitted  that  individual  common  sense  is 
like  the  drop  of  water,  and  that  the  sum  total  of  cos- 
mic intelligence  is  like  the  ocean,  it  does  not  become 
one  of  this  nineteenth  century  to  parade  his  common 
sense,  and  sit  in  judgment  on  the  church,  the  state, 
political  economy,  science,  art,  agriculture,  and  trade. 
When  we  compare  individual  common  sense  to  the 
dro]3  of  water,  we  must  admit  that  we  have  not  been 
quite  fair  to  the  latter,  for  we  know  that  every  drop 
of  the  ocean  is  capable  of  performing  its  work,  of 
resistance  to  pressure,  of  evaporation,  of  a  thermal  me- 
dium, precisely  ^s  well  as  every  other  drop ;  and  when 
we  speak  of  the  work  of  the  ocean,  we  deal,  in  truth, 
with  the  exertion  of  all  the  drops  of  water  contained 
in  it ;  and  if  any  one  drop  were  to  ask  at  our  hands 


10  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


for  its  due  share  of  praise,  we  should  have  to  say  to  it, 
"  There  is  not  another  drop  in  the  ocean  that  can  be 
said  to  have  done  more  work  than  you  did."  Cosmic 
knowledge,  considered  as  an  ocean  of  individual  com- 
mon sense,  comprehends,  on  the  other  hand,  the  work 
not  of  all,  but  of  a  few  individuals.  It  would  be  a 
curiosity  in  science  to  possess  an  approximate  compu- 
tation of  their  number  during  our  historical  period. 
One  in  a  million  of  human  beings  would  be  no  exagger- 
ated estimate.  If  this  is  true,  then,  while  one  man  is 
doing  something  to  advance  knowledge,  a  million  of  men 
are  doing  nothing  to  the  same  end,  unless,  indeed,  we 
admit  that  they  are  helping  that  one  by  giving  him  the 
countenance  and  moral  support  of  their  mere  presence; 
but  this  cannot  be  true,  either,  for  two  very  good  rea- 
sons. The  first  is,  that  the  contemporaries  of  any  group 
of  wise  men  are  far  behind  them  in  knowledge ;  and 
the  second  is,  that  so  far  from  helping  them,  the  masses 
are,  and  always  have  been,  rather  inclined  to  oppose 
them ;  which,  fortunately,  has  not  amounted  to  much. 

Now  let  us  watch  one  of  these  millions  of  humanity 
boasting  of  common  sense,  and  see  what  all  this  com- 
mon sense  is  doing  during  a  lifetime. 

We  know  that  one  of  that  million  is  pursuing  science 
as  best  he  can,  without  taking  part  in  the  turmoil  of 
the  day,  without  caring  what  benefit  he  or  any  one  else 
may  derive  from  this  scientific  work,  content  to  ask  of 
nature  questions  relating  to  observable  matter,  and  ac- 
cepting his  pri\dlege  of  observing  as  an  answer  thereto. 
He  observes  diligently,  and  when  he  finds  a  fact  he 
does  not  exult  and  boast  of  it,  but  goes  on  with  the 
search  for  the  mag^nitude  of  the  fact.  He  finds  that  a 
stone  falls!    He  is  not  content  until  he  knows  how 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE.  11 


mucli  it  falls  witHn  a  given  time,  in  double  tlie  time, 
in  half  the  time ;  and  when  he  has  learned  to  know  this, 
he  is  fully  rewarded  and  ready  to  do  more  work  of  the 
same  kind.  He  is  not  eager  to  keep  his  knowledge 
secret,  nor  to  derive  from  it  personal  benefit ;  but  if  he 
finds  that  in  the  pursuit  of  his  work  he  is  indebted  to 
any  one  for  information  which  helps  him  on  in  his 
inquiry,  he  is  very  careful  to  give  him  credit  for  it. 

What  are  the  rest  of  the  million  doing  all  this  time  ? 
To  understand  that  fully  we  must  first  know  the  prob- 
lem before  them.  It  is  to  keep  soul  and  body  together 
by  any  and  every  means  which  do  not  prevent  others 
from  doing  precisely  the  same  thing.  Also  to  learn  to 
know  the  nature  of  that  same  soul  and  body,  and  their 
respective  conditions  before  and  after  they  met.  Also 
to  receive  and  give  exact  information  how  all  things 
came  about,  where  and  when  they  are  going,  and  what 
is  coming  next. 

The  man  who  has  had  the  best  means,  the  method, 
and  the  ability  to  answer  these  inquiries,  if  answered 
they  can  be,  is  probably  the  scientific  man,  but  it  is  not 
on  record  that  they  ever  asked  him.  This  is,  perhaps, 
as  well,  for  he  would  have  told  them  that  by  diligent 
work  an  answer  might  be  had  in  perhaps  ten  thousand 
years ;  but  that  one  could  not  be  sure  of  giving  the 
required  information  even  at  the  end  of  that  time. 
Now,  these  people  were  pressed  for  time.  They 
wanted  to  know  at  once.  This  was  a  matter  of 
great  import  to  them,  a  question  of  life  and  death 
and  of  the  hereafter,  and  indeed  there  were  various 
theories  afloat  already  by  which  some  of  these  ques- 
tions could  be  answered ;  while  others,  if  they  could  not 
be  explained  by  the  same  theories,  could  no  doubt  be 


12  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


explained  by  otliers.  In  this  manner  grew  the  liiiman 
knowledge  of  the  unknown,  knowledge  needed  to  sup- 
ply immediate  mental  wants.  Wherever  a  power  or  a 
force  was  encountered  which  subjected  humanity  to 
its  will,  it  was  idealized  into  a  material  shape,  endowed 
with  the  qualities  and  attributes  needed  to  perform  its 
work,  and  placed  somewhere  in  the  ranks  of  the  con- 
stantly accumulating  deities,  fates,  demigods,  saints, 
heroes,  devils,  nymphs,  giants,  dwarfs,  and  goblins 
which  peopled  space.  Whenever  human  action  needed 
guidance,  these  gods  and  other  powers  conveniently 
expressed  their  wishes,  and  these  became  law,  at  least 
for  the  time  being.  Whenever  the  influence  of  these 
laws  became  weakened,  men  proclaimed  their  precepts 
anew,  and  presented  miracles  as  the  credentials  of  their 
ambassadorship,  a  species  of  divine  privilege  to  arrest 
at  pleasure  divine  laws.  The  object  of  all  this  at 
all  times  was  to  enforce  some  system  of  morality,  a 
code  of  procedure  in  all  human  relations,  and  also  to 
furnish  a  satisfactory  solution  of  current  human  ques- 
tions. We  may  say  that  in  these  ideal  pictures  of  pos- 
sible truths  popular  knowledge  has  consisted  from  the 
beginning  of  time  to  this  day,  and  this  will  probably 
continue  to  be  the  method  by  which  the  great  major- 
ity of  mankind  will  be  informed  for  all  time  to  come, 
and  a  very  excellent  method  it  is  in  the  absence  of  a 
better  one. 

Many  systems  of  historical,  poetical,  and  metaphysi- 
cal nature,  all  of  them  explaining  more  or  less  accurate- 
ly the  origin  and  the  cause  of  things  and  the  powers 
which  govern  them  and  us,  and  also  advancing  a  code 
of  morals  for  the  guidance  of  man  with  a  view  to  his 
present  and  future  condition,  have  always  existed  and 


COMMON  SEN8E  AND  TASTE. 


13 


do  now  exist.  They  all  claim  to  be  in  their  essence  a 
divine  revelation,  but  this  divinity  is  denied  by  all  men 
to  all  systems  but  their  own. 

The  Christian  religion  is  no  exception  to  this  general 
rule.  Its  divinity  is  denied  by  eight  hundred  millions 
of  men,  or  more,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  its  followers 
constitute  a  majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  civilized 
world. 

Some  of  these  systems  have  ceased  to  be  religious 
creeds.  They  have  at  this  day  no  followers  who  be- 
lieve in  them,  or  who  believe  that  they  were  ever 
true  systems  in  any  sense.  They  are  not  forgotten, 
however,  but  continue  to  exist  as  mythologies  and 
imaginative  poetical  explanations  of  the  unknown. 
Modern  literature  and  poetry  refer  to  them,  and  their 
moral  and  civilizing  influence  continues  to  be  felt  and 
is  recognized  by  all  men. 

All  this  goes  to  show  that  outside  of  positive 
knowledge  there  is  a  poetical  knowledge  or  the  knowl- 
edge conveyed  by  art  (ideal  knowledge),  which  prompt- 
ly answers  man's  questions  in  such  a  manner  that  he 
may  understand  the  answer.  It  is  an  answer  suited  to 
his  capacity,  such  as  is  given  to  a  child  sometimes,  to 
satisfy  a  craving  for  knowledge  which  it  cannot  fully 
comprehend.  These  answers  are  not  necessarily  un- 
true, but  they  are  often  imperfect,  intended  perhaps 
to.be  modified  from  time  to  time,  as  much  as  this  may 
be  done  by  reasonable  interpretation  within  the  limits 
of  their  form  and  extent,  and  then  to  be  rejected  as 
truths,  and  to  yield  to  other  forms  of  similar  poetical 
knowledge. 

This  poetical  knowledge,  moreover,  is  entirely  the 
result  of  the  imagination  and  of  the  emotions,  while 


14  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


positive  knowledge  is  the  result  of  observation.  For 
instance,  wlien  a  philosopher  desires  to  know  whether 
atmospheric  air  impedes  heat  rays  and  how  much,  he 
does  not  place  himself  before  a  fire  and  judge  of  the 
result  from  his  personal  sensation  ;  he  understands  too 
well  that,  unaided,  we  cannot  see,  hear,  or  feel  cor- 
rectly, certainly  not  numerically.  Keason  inquires 
into  the  nature  of  phenomena  as  perceived  by  the 
senses  with  the  express  understanding  that  our  senses 
are  but  imperfect  instruments  for  the  acquisition  of 
a  true  knowledge  of  matter,  its  motion,  and  relation ; 
that  these  senses  of  ours  must  be  assisted,  watched, 
controlled,  and  tested,  and,  above  all,  that  their  ob- 
servations must  be  examined  and  verified  by  known 
methods  which  determine  the  accuracy  of  quantitative 
elements  of  phenomena.  Eeason  analyzes  the  condi- 
tions, constructs  apparatus  to  meet  these  conditions, 
and  observes  with  the  help  of  this  apparatus. 

The  imagination  proceeds  by  a  short  cut  to  explain 
phenomena,  not  by  an  examination  of  the  conditions, 
or  of  the  facts,  but  by  using  any  convenient  explana- 
tion as  it  presents  itself  to  the  mind  as  capable  of 
accounting  for  the  phenomena  imperfectly  observed. 
The  existence  of  fire  as  an  element,  caloric  as  a  sub- 
stance, are  instances  of  the  kind  in  science.  The  ex- 
planation, by  the  maxim  that  nature  abhors  a  vacuum, 
of  phenomena  caused  by  atmospheric  pressure,  is  an- 
other. 

More  often  phenomena  are  explained  by  a  special 
force  invented  for  the  purpose.  This  species  of  inven- 
tion, however,  does  not  deserve  that  name,  for  it 
amounts  in  fact  only  to  a  desire  to  explain,  not  to 
an  actual  explanation.    The  success  extends  merely  to 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE, 


15 


the  naming  of  the  tiling  unknown,  while  the  definition 
of  the  thing  named  utterly  fails.  We  speak  of  reflec- 
tion as  a  mental  function  when  we  refer  to  a  compari- 
son of  matter  and  its  motion  observed  by  the  senses. 
The  ideas  of  space  and  eternity  are  strictly  confined  to 
these  names,  and  have  a  value  only  so  long  as  they 
refer  to  a  relation  of  matter  (space)  or  a  motion  of 
matter,  time  (a  succession  of  events),  while  outside  of 
matter  they  have  no  value,  and  are  not  capable  of 
definition. 

The  education  of  the  majority  of  mankind  is  de- 
rived, however,  from  art  productions,  which  deal  with 
various  questions  in  this  manner,  and  which  never  fail 
to  answer  questions  as  accurately  as  the  imagination 
of  the  author  is  able  to  comprehend  the  conditions. 

These  art  productions  are  pictures,  sculptures,  le- 
gends, novels,  plays,  songs,  traditions,  and  all  sorts  of 
mental  impressions  rendered  in  matter.  Most  men  de- 
rive from  these  sources  their  knowledge  of  history,  moral 
philosophy,  political  economy,  art,  science,  and  religion. 

Common  sense  means  the  faculty  of  drawing  conclu- 
sions from  impressions  which  are  the  result  of  sensu- 
ous perception  unaided  by  previous  knowledge. 

It  is  the  current  popular  belief,  that  to  see,  hear,  or 
feel,  means  to  convey  to  our  brain  a  just  appreciation 
of  the  form,  color,  size,  sound,  and  texture  of  objects 
observed ;  and  that  we  may  further,  by  the  simple  ex- 
ercise of  a  faculty  called  reflection,  form  opinions  as  to 
the  nature  of  these  objects,  the  manner  and  process 
by  which  they  came  to  be,  and  the  properties  which 
they  possess.  This  is  a  very  serious  error.  Our 
sensuous  perception  of  objects  conveys  to  the  brain 
an  impression  of  them  as  seen  in  their  environments, 


16    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 

which  is  a  totally  different  thing  from  a  knowledge 
of  the  objects  themselves ;  and  reflection  means  noth- 
ing more  than  a  comparison  of  two  or  more  sensuous 
perceptions  which  may  have  been  had  at  different 
times,  and  which  are  one  and  all  subject  to  the 
same  conditional  perfection.  We  see  a  distant  moun- 
tain, and  what  do  we  know  of  it  ?  Its  outline  is  that 
particular  elevation  which  is  turned  toward  us,  and 
which  is  no  indication  of  its  general  form.  Its  color 
is  a  deep  violet ;  probably  not  the  minutest  object 
could  be  found  on  the  face  of  that  mountain  which  in 
fact  has  that  color.  Its  size? — we  know  nothing 
of  that,  nor  can  we  establish  a  relation  between  its 
magnitude  and  that  of  other  distant  mountains  which 
we  see  at  the  same  time.  Nor  are  we  any  more  accu- 
rate with  regard  to  objects  near  the  eye.  Compare  the 
height  of  a  goblet  and  of  a  hat  by  measurement  and  see 
how  incorrect  was  the  idea  you  had  of  their  relative 
height  before  you  did  so.  For  thousands  of  years  men 
believed  that  the  sun  revolved  around  the  earth  once 
in  twenty-four  hours,  because  they  saw  it.  For  a  simi- 
lar period  of  time  the  fixed  stars  were  supposed  to  be 
very  small  bodies  compared  with  the  sun,  and  it  was 
thought  that  they  also  revolved  around  the  earth.  The 
planets,  after  centuries  of  close  observation,  were  sup- 
posed to  march  around  the  earth  in  erratic  orbits,  and 
hence  their  name.  Galileo,  in  reporting  his  fii^t  ob- 
servation of  Saturn  through  a  telescope,  says  that  it 
seems  a  combination  of  three  planets  joined  together. 
The  earth  ujDon  which  we  live  was  believed  to  be  flat, 
because  men  were  sure  that  they  saw  it  so.  Fire  was 
accepted  as  a  body  because  every  one  could  see  and 
feel  it. 


COMMON  8EN8E  AND  TASTE,  17 


The  man  of  common  sense  believes  lie  can  see  cor- 
rectly, and  is  surprised  wlien  we  tell  him  tliat  tlie  sun 
wliicli  lie  sees  on  tlie  horizon  at  that  very  moment  has 
set  eight  minutes  before.  If  we  cannot  see  things  as 
they  are,  can  we  draw  conclusions  from  what  we  see  ? 
Clearly  not :  nor  can  we  draw  sound  conclusions  from 
premises  positively  and  correctly  known,  unless  we 
have  learned  to  know  the  scientific  limits  within  which 
conclusions  may  be  drawn.  A  light  removed  to  twice 
the  distance  from  you  will  not  alford  half  the  amount 
of  illumination  which  it  did  before.  It  will  only  give 
one  quarter  that  amount.  A  beam  of  double  the 
length  of  another  beam,  if  loaded  with  the  same 
weight  per  foot,  will  sustain  that  load  if  its  height  is 
doubled ;  but  if  its  height  remain  the  same,  its  thick- 
ness must  be  increased  four  times  to  perform  the  work. 
The  moon  seems  smaller  at  the  zenith  than  at  the 
horizon,  and  the  man  of  common  sense  would  con- 
clude that  it  had  moved  away  from  the  eye ;  what  is 
true  is  that  it  is  four  thousand  miles  nearer  to  him. 
And  yet  the  man  of  common  sense  strikes  out  boldly 
into  the  ocean  of  phenomena  which  surrounds  him, 
and  insists  that  he  can  see  and  hear  and  know  by 
virtue  of  his  natural  faculties,  and  boasts  of  his 
contempt  for  so-called  book-learning.  He  gives  opin- 
ions right  and  left  on  all  subjects,  and  lives  up  to 
these  opinions  sometimes,  and  insists  that  others  shall 
do  so  always.  To  him  nothing  is  established ;  every- 
thing may  be  controverted  by  the  conjectures  of  his 
o^\Ti  brain,  excepting  the  stock  prejudices  to  which 
he  has  subscribed  because  he  is  born  in  them  and  has 
been  surrounded  by  them  all  his  life. 

He  denies  what  he  cannot  understand,  and  believes 
2 


18  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


in  other  things  because  lie  cannot  understand  them. 
As  much  as  he  sneers  at  science,  he  is  confident  that 
at  an  early  day  science  will  teach  us  how  to  perfonn 
the  labor  of  life  by  machinery,  and  give  us  a  perpetual 
holiday  thereafter.  His  favorite  theory  is  that  this 
will  be  done  by  electricity,  because  this  is  the  species 
of  natural  phenomena  which  was  last  brought  to  his 
notice,  and  he  knows  least  of  its  nature  and  more  of 
its  practical  results.  He  believes  in  public  opinion. 
He  is,  he  thinks,  part  owner  of  that  opinion,  being  a 
member  of  the  public.  You  cannot  convince  him  by 
an  argument;  but  if  you  state  your  view  in  some 
newspaper,  he  will  read  it  in  the  morning,  as  public 
opinion,  and  retail  it  to  you  in  the  afternoon.  He  has 
faith  in  majorities.  He  would  decide  all  questions 
by  a  vote.  Now  this  is  a  very  singular  notion.  We 
all  know  that  if  you  gather  a  congregation  of  men, 
whether  you  take  them  from  the  next  scientific  associ- 
ation or  the  next  ale-house,  from  the  vestry  of  the 
principal  churches  or  from  among  hod-carriers,  wheth- 
er you  deal  with  these  aggregations  separately  or  mix 
them  up  in  one  or  more  bodies,  always  and  ever  you 
will  find  that  in  a  body  of  men,  no  matter  how  con- 
stituted, the  number  of  wise  men  is  small  compared 
to  the  number  of  unwise,  and  the  wise  men  are  always 
in  the  minority, — and  yet  this  man  will  have  all  ques- 
tions decided  by  majorities ;  he  thinks,  and  he  says, 
that  ten  men  know  more  than  one ;  or,  in  other  words, 
that  ten  crab-apples  make  one  pine-apple.  Very  sin- 
gular this,  but  this  is  not  all.  The  man  of  common 
sense  insists  that  individuals  may  be  tyrants,  but  that 
the  masses  are  ever  just  and  charitable.  He  says  the 
people  best  know  what  they  want,  and  asks  why  should 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE. 


19 


they  not  have  it  if  tliey  want  it  ?  they  know  where 
the  shoe  pinches,  let  them  prescribe  the  remedy.  Yes, 
indeed,  if  we  could  be  sure  that  they  are  as  familiar 
with  the  remedy  as  they  are  with  the  disease.  Be- 
sides we  may  doubt  that  they  know  whether  the  shoe 
pinches  or  not.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  it  is  not  the 
shoe  that  is  at  fault,  but  the  rags  and  pebbles  inside 
of  the  shoe  which  have  been  allowed  to  drop  in 
through  neglect  or  have  been  put  there  through  mis- 
taken judgment. 

If  you  wish  to  see  the  man  of  common  sense  in  his 
grandeur  you  must  observe  him  in  his  prejudices,  in 
his  hereditary  errors.  There  he  is  gigantic.  He  rails 
in- speech  and  in  print  against  the  superstitions  of  re- 
ligion. The  idolatry  of  the  Catholic  Church  is  his 
favorite  theme ;  the  worship  of  saints  is  an  abomina- 
tion to  his  eyes ;  he  would  destroy  every  saint  and  re- 
duce the  church  of  living  ideas  to  a  barn  filled  with 
nothingness.  Why  not  let  the  poor  man  worship  the 
saints  ?  If  it  is  difficult  for  him  to  comprehend  the 
concentration  of  attributes  as  we  would  embody  them 
in  the  word  God ;  if  to  understand  charity,  humility, 
faith,  self-denial,  chastity,  he  needs  the  material  repre- 
sentation of  these  virtues  in  veritable  men  and  women 
who  are  supposed  to  have  possessed  them,  and  if  he 
will  prostrate  himself  before  their  images  in  stone  or 
wood,  and  worship,  why  not  let  him  do  so  ?  It  will 
make  him  a  better  man  for  a  time  at  least.  IS'ow  the 
man  of  common  sense,  if  he  be  an  ignorant  man,  boasts 
that  modern  Protestantism  has  done  away  with  all 
false  gods,  and  that  the  people  are  just  as  good  with- 
out them.  The  solid  food  of  saint  worship  has  been 
exchanged  for  mental  intoxication,  for  the  austere 


20   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


dread  of  an  unrelenting  hell  and  the  despair  of  those 
who  fear  that  they  are  not  of  the  elect.  The  poor  and 
ignorant  are  in  search  of  spiritual  food  in  a  material 
shape,  and  idols  they  will  worship,  with  the  simple 
difference  that  the  idols  are  removed  from  the  shrine 
in  the  church,  and  new  ones  are  put  up  in  the  heads 
of  the  poor  parishioners. 

If  the  man  of  common  sense  be  a  learned  man,  per- 
haps he  will  suggest  Plutarch's  lives  in  place  of  the 
saints.  This  is  well  so  far  as  it  goes,  but  the  people  will 
have  to  find  their  saints  in  Plutarch's  lives,  and  if  they 
will  not  or  cannot  read  of  them  there,  we  must  per- 
force make  statues  of  them  and  pictures,  and  they  will 
worship  these. 

Common  sense  is  driving  poetical  knowledge,  poet- 
ical thought,  out  of  society,  the  state,  and  the  church, 
and  substitutes  nothing  for  it.  When  Greece  began 
to  doubt  her  gods,  it  was  her  philosophers  who  took 
an  active  part  in  opposing  them;  the  gods  had  to 
yield,  but  not  to  Greek  philosophy :  they  yielded  to 
the  poetry  of  Christianity,  which  in  one  comprehensive 
and  flexible  poetic  system  replaced  the  cumbrous  my- 
thology of  antiquity.  Modern  common  sense  is  slowly 
shattering  the  strong  walls  of  mediaeval  state  and 
church,  which  are  toppling  down,  stone  after  stone  and 
brick  after  brick ;  when  the  fabric  disappears,  man  will 
live  intellectually  out  of  doors  and  without  shelter, 
and  will  have  to  learn  with  great  labor  how  to  build 
anew.  What  he  will  build  we  may  presume  to  conjec- 
ture. It  wiU  not  be  a  university  solely,  for  most  men 
cannot  live  there ;  they  must  labor  for  their  daily 
bread.  Perhaps  there  will  be  theaters,  libraries,  mu- 
seums, and  lecture  halls  in  abundance;  there  ^vill 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE. 


21 


doubtless  be  courts  of  law,  parliaments,  palaces,  and 
cliurclies  of  some  kind.  If  humanity  lias  really  out- 
grown the  rude  wood-cuts  of  saints,  then  we  must  sup- 
ply it  with  more  artistic  pictures.  Virtue  must  be 
idealized  in  matter  in  some  form ;  but  we  must  not 
sneer  at  saints  and  invite  the  poor  laborer  into  the 
portico  of  the  temple  to  argue  and  be  argued  with,  on 
moral  philosophy;  he  has  no  time  to  go  there  ;  his  de- 
spondency needs  a  quicker  remedy  than  learned  dis- 
quisition can  furnish,  and  if  you  do  not  supply  one 
he  will  seek  consolation  in  the  cup,  and  thus  escape 
trial  and  trouble,  at  least  for  the  moment,  and  become 
more  brutish  and  degraded  after  every  draught.  De- 
prived one  after  another  of  his  processions  and  feasts, 
he  is  no  longer  happy  and  joyous,  but  downcast  and 
sober;  he  has  ceased  to  sing  and  to  dance.  He  and 
his  fellow  laborers  assemble  in  dreary  halls  to  hear 
harangues  on  political  economy  and  on  dry  statistics ; 
his  great  aim  is  to  work  less  and  get  more  wages,  as 
though  by  that  means  his  share  in  the  aggregate  pro- 
duction of  labor  could  be  increased. 

He  desires  that  no  one  belonging  to  his  craft  shall 
do  more  work  than  himself,  no  matter  how  inferior  in 
ability  he  himself  may  be,  and  thus  he  cuts  off  all 
chance  of  ever  acquiring  capital,  the  thing  whicli 
above  all  others  he  hates,  unless  it  be  possessed  by 
himself.  He  wants  to  vote  in  order  to  become  the 
master  of  those  who  govern  him ;  really,  however,  he 
continues  the  slave  of  the  creatures  of  his  mistaken  or 
misguided  judgment.  We  should  not  quarrel  with  com- 
mon sense  because  it  has  granted  to  men  the  privilege 
of  voting,  of  doubtful  value  though  that  privilege  be, 
had  it  supplied  him  at  the  same  time  mth  such  knowl- 


22   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


edge  as  lie  needs  to  vote  well.  This  knowledge  is  not 
to  be  found  in  political  pamphlets  or  in  essays,  nor  in 
harangues  at  the  hustings  ;  all  this  is  chaff  which  fills 
his  poor  stomach  without  feeding  him,  and  which  only 
creates  a  desire  for  strong  drink,  which  results  in 
broken  heads.  If  the  poor  man  must  vote,  why  not 
prepare  him  for  voting  ?  Common  sense  has  tried  to 
do  this,  having  talked,  written,  and  printed  by  the 
mile;  but  it  is  of  no  use.  Poor  ignorant  common 
sense !  The  poor  man  does  not  understand  your  talk, 
you  must  speak  to  him  through  pictures.  You  are 
yourself  the  greatest  enemy  of  the  only  sort  of  knowl- 
edge which  can  benefit  him.  If  he  must  vote,  let 
voting  be  made  a  noble  and  honorable  thing  ;  it  must 
have  peculiar  surroundings ;  men  unused  to  voting, 
who  do  not  understand  the  meaning  and  import  of  a 
ballot,  cannot  vote  well  in  taverns  or  in  m  arket-places. 
Common  sense  here  is  inadequate  ;  we  must  call  upon 
art  to  explain  this  thing  to  the  benighted  voter.  We 
should  build  a  temple  for  him,  with  vestibules  and  an 
inner  sanctuary,  where  among  statues  and  pictures, 
and  gorgeous  light  and  color  decoration  the  citizen 
should  deposit  his  vote.  Suffrage  should  be  a  solem- 
nity. The  voter  should  rise  with  the  sun,  and  take  an 
ablution  in  baths  especially  built  for  the  purpose ;  he 
should  array  himself  in  holiday  attire,  and  march  in 
procession  with  banners  and  music  to  the  great  court 
where  voting  is  done  ;  he  should  purify  himself  in 
the  vestibule  with  prayer,  that  this  great  function  be 
performed  honestly  and  conscientiously ;  he  should 
present  his  vote  in  a  respectful  attitude,  and  when  the 
voting  was  over  he  and  his  wife  and  children  should 
enjoy  a  dance,  or  otherwise  make  some  show  of  thank- 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE. 


23 


fulness  to  Ms  country,  for  being  a  free  citizen,  one  to 
wliom  a  voice  is  allowed  in  its  government.  Perhaps 
men  would  tlien  feel  tlie  importance  of  tlie  elective 
franchise. 

Common  sense  is  cunning,  but  not  wise.  It  at- 
tempts to  govern  by  strictly  adhering  to  public 
opinion.  Common  sense  imagines  that  plain  rules  of 
right  and  wrong,  simple,  well-known  principles  will 
not  immediately  satisfy  the  public,  because  just  meas- 
ures, so  framed  as  to  reach  the  defects  of  a  state  as 
well  as  of  an  individual,  need  time  to  prove  their 
efficacy. 

The  modem  statesman  and  politician  cannot  afford 
time.  He  depends  upon  popularity,  and  his  popular- 
ity in  turn  depends  upon  immediate  recognition  of  his 
merit.  Hence  he  yields  to  popular  prejudices,  and 
often  resorts  to  the  agitation  of  erroneous  views  on 
questions  of  policy  and  j)olitical  economy,  in  order  to 
raise  in  the  shortest  possible  time  a  party  which  will 
sustain  him.  This  is  a  singular  phenomenon  in  the 
world  of  thought.  The  men  who  eminently  under- 
stand the  right  of  the  thing,  abandon  this  right  to 
make  room  for  the  wrong  of  it,  because  the  people 
imagine  this  to  be  the  right.  The  people,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  directly  or  indirectly  selected  these  wise 
men  to  legislate  for  them,  have  not  sufficient  confi- 
dence in  their  wisdom  to  admit  the  justice  of  a  meas- 
ure when  they  themselves  do  not  understand  the  nature 
of  it,  while  at  the  same  time  it  is  recognized  that  the 
subject  is  not  one  upon  which  they  as  a  mass  are  cor- 
rectly informed.  The  passage  of  the  silver  bill  in 
America  is  an  instance  of  this  kind.  This  is  a  law  by 
which  it  is  ordained  that  there  shall  be  two  units  of 


24   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


measure,  eacli  of  which  shall  be  called  a  dollar,  while 
the  intrinsic  value  of  one  is  eighty-five  one  hundi^edths 
of  that  of  the  other.  This  law  was  passed  by  a  two- 
thirds  vote  over  the  veto  of  the  President,  by  a  Con- 
gress the  majority  of  which  must  have  been  sufficiently 
informed  to  know  that  there  cannot  be  in  anything 
two  standards  of  measure ;  the  virtue  of  a  measure  by 
which  value  is  estimated  is  in  its  being  a  unit,  or  else 
it  is  not  a  measure  at  all.  "When  the  mover  of  this 
bill  was  remonstrated  with  by  a  delegation  of  bankers, 
he  declined  to  consider  the  arguments  of  those  gentle- 
men, for  the  reason  that  if  this  law  was  not  passed  his 
constituents  would  next  year  send  men  to  Congress 
who  would  wipe  out  the  national  debt  as  with  a 
sponge.  ISTo  greater  depth  of  human  ignorance  and 
intellectual  perversity  can  well  be  conceived  than  that 
which  is  expressed  in  this  speech :  "  Wipe  out  the 
national  debt  as  with  a  sponge."  As  if  a  debt  could 
be  wiped  out,  or  as  though  the  repudiation  of  a  debt 
could  in  any  way  modify  the  condition  of  indebted- 
ness except  to  make  it  worse  than  it  was.  If  a  nation 
declines  to  pay  its  debts,  it  only  charges  itself  with  an 
evil  far  greater  than  the  debt  itself. 

In  the  streets  and  public  places,  in  the  halls  of  just- 
ice, in  parliament,  in  schools  and  in  churches,  the 
poetry  of  human  relations  is  daily  reduced  to  an 
imagined  equality.  Personal  whims  and  desires  de- 
cide all  questions  without  help  from  without.  Spon- 
taneous knowledge  is  made  a  summary  judgment  of 
the  aspect  and  form  of  things,  of  men,  and  of  congre- 
gations of  men  as  they  present  themselves  in  their 
relations  to  us,  to  each  other,  and  to  the  world.  These 
forms  are  capable  of  poetic  development,  but  com- 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE, 


25 


mon  sense  lias  condemned  tMs  as  superfluous  and 
untruthful,  and  yet  we  need  it  at  every  step,  to 
help  us  in  our  judgment.  When  men  congregate  in 
our  parliament  houses  in  clothes  suited  to  monkeys, 
and  sit  with  stovepipe  hats  on,  or  lounge  in  attitudes 
of  indifference;  when,  in  their  debates,  they  abuse 
each  other,  and  in  their  bearing  offend  common  de- 
cency; in  other  words,  when  the  instruction  whicli 
should  be  derived  from  artistic  grouping  is  neglected, 
and  the  face  of  society  is  deprived  of  that  expression 
which  should  betray  its  inner  life — its  virtue,  its  ideas, 
its  morality — ^then  men  must  lose  respect  for  wisdom 
and  bow  to  folly. 

The  man  of  common  sense,  however,  reflects  upon 
what  he  perceives  through  his  senses ;  he  draws  con- 
clusions rashly,  no  doubt,  and  with  bad  results ;  but 
we  have  at  least  a  mental  effort,  an  honest  intention, 
which  we  must  respect  if  we  do  not  admit  it  to  be  of 
value,  and  whicli  we  must  recognize,  even  if  we  depre- 
cate the  feebleness  and  fallacy  of  its  results.  But  con- 
sider the  man  of  taste,  who  sits  in  judgment  upon  ideas 
of  which  he  has  never  heard,  and  of  their  expression  in 
art,  which  he  has  never  studied  !  Think  of  a  man  pro- 
nouncing upon  the  beauty  of  anything  while  he  himself 
wears  a  starched  shirt-front,  a  cylindrical  hat,  mutton- 
chop  whiskers,  and  pantaloons  strijDed  horizontally !  In 
the  great  cities  of  Europe  sad  compounds  called  plays 
— ^without  plots,  without  sentiment,  without  meaning 
— are  played  to  full  houses  for  hundreds  of  nights  in 
succession,  and  yet  the  persons  who  visit  these  per- 
formances speak  with  confidence  of  their  taste  !  Men 
live  in  houses  built  of  small  hemlock  joists  nailed  to- 
gether in  the  most  slovenly  manner,  filled  in  with  thin 


26  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


brick,  and  faced  on  the  outside  witli  a  weak  lining  of 
sandstone  overtopped  with  a  tin  cornice  painted  in 
imitation  of  stone,  and  insist  that  they  are  men  of 
taste  !  The  bookstalls  and  street  comers  are  crowded 
with  the  purchasers  of  the  cheap  novel,  while  the  aver- 
age daily  attendance  of  the  great  libraries  does  not 
exceed  a  few  persons.  The  literature  consumed  by  the 
masses  is  the  veriest  trash,  and  yet  each  one  who  reads 
it  believes  himself  or  herself  a  man  or  woman  of  taste. 
While  in  large  cities  like  London,  Paris,  New  York, 
and  Vienna,  a  few  enterprising  men  or  firms  are  en- 
gaged in  producing  well-designed  furniture,  carpets, 
curtains,  and  household  articles,  and  find  a  scanty  sale 
for  them,  huge  factories  turn  out  constantly  vast  masses 
of  stuff  badly  conceived,  worse  designed,  and  recklessly 
put  together.  Ask  what  becomes  of  these  miserable 
productions,  and  you  are  told  that  they  are  sold  to  the 
people.  When  remonstrated  with  upon  the  bad  judg- 
ment displayed  in  these  manufactures — their  staring 
ugliness,  violent  colors,  crude  and  pernicious  ornament 
— the  dealers  inform  you  that  they  are  well  aware  of 
these  defects,  and  that  they  have  repeatedly  tried  to 
modify  them,  but  have  failed  to  find  purchasers  for 
better  things ;  these  things  are  made  for  and  satisfy 
^  the  taste  of  the  people. 

What  we  call  the  civilized  world  may  be  said  to 
do  all  things  in  accordance  with  the  fashion  of  the 
day.  We  build  our  houses,  we  clothe  ourselves,  in 
the  fashion.  We  read  fashionable  literature,  and  see 
fashionable  plays.  We  are  pious  and  vicious  in  obe- 
dience to  fashion.  We  live,  eat  and  drink,  marry  and 
are  given  in  marriage,  travel,  enjoy  ourselves,  and  wor- 
ship God,  after  the  same  manner. 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE, 


27 


"Wliat  does  all  this  mean,  and  what  is  its  import  ? 
There  is  no  mystery  in  this.  We  all  know  and  under- 
stand the  nature  of  it.  We  prefer  the  form,  the 
expression  of  a  function  of  any  kind,  as  it  is  ordered 
to-day,  not  by  an  authority  which  we  respect,  or  one 
for  which  we  have  an  aifection,  but  by  men  and  causes 
which  we  despise.  We  do  this  with  the  full  knowl- 
edge and  understanding  that  next  year  we  will  do  pre- 
cisely the  opposite  with  the  same  ardor  and  the  same 
satisfaction.  We  are  obtuse  enough  to  boast  that  we 
are  a  people  of  taste,  able  to  distinguish  the  beautiful 
from  the  ugly;  yet  every  year  we  go  into  ecstasies 
over  the  beauties  of  the  prevailing  fashion.  We  laugh 
at  the  unfortunate  mortal  who  lacks  the  taste  to  change 
his  last  year's  coat,  his  superannuated  carriage,  his  un- 
fashionable furniture,  etc.,  etc.,  all  of  which,  awhile 
ago,  we  extolled  to  the  skies  as  admirable  specimens  of 
human  art.  Can  it  be  possible  that  in  so  doing  we 
display  a  sound  judgment  of  form,  color,  adaptation, 
expression,  etc.  ?  or  are  we  merely  the  shuttlecocks  of 
our  imagination,  which  has  become  impotent  unless 
excited  by  the  judgment  or  example  of  others  ? 

The  radical  error  at  the  foundation  of  all  this  is  the 
attempt  to  explain  the  nature  of  beauty  by  its  symp- 
tom, "a  pleasurable  emotion." 

It  is  said  that  a  work  of  nature  or  of  art  which  has 
beauty  excites  a  pleasurable  emotion ;  this  is  not  al- 
ways true,  for  there  are  many  who  hate  good  music, 
architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  and  literature.  But 
to  test  this  assertion,  let  us  grant  that  an  ordinary  per- 
son would  rather  suffer  the  infliction  of  a  good  opera 
than  be  left  to  his  own  thoughts  for  an  evening,  does 
that  prove  anything  ?    A  game  of  cards  with  a  dull 


28   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


companion  would  be  preferred,  perhaps,  and  then  there 
is  much  in  the  performance  of  an  opera  outside  of  its 
music  which  is  attractive  and  diverting,  although  it  is 
either  an  inferior  art  effort  or  entirely  a  thing  not  art 
at  all.  But  the  converse  of  this  definition — the  asser- 
tion that  a  pleasurable  emotion  is  the  proof  of  the 
presence  of  beauty  in  anything,  is  simply  preposterous, 
and  leads  men  into  extravagancies  which  are  incon- 
sistent with  sanity. 

An  immense  amount  of  human  labor  is  expended 
annually  on  productions  which  derive  their  greatest 
percentage  of  value  from  so-called  art.  If  this  is  art 
which  changes  with  the  fashion,  if  it  is  mistaken  art, 
bad  art,  all  the  labor  expended  on  it  is  a  total  loss. 
Why  is  it  created  at  all  ?  Because  there  are  men  of 
taste  who  think  it  beautiful  long  enough  to  purchase 
it,  only  in  order  to  throw  it  away  next  month  or  next 
year.  The  money  (which  means  labor)  expended  in 
ten  years  for  bad  architecture,  bad  sculpture,  bad  fur- 
niture, bad  paintings,  bad  literature,  bad  music,  and 
other  had  art,  would  amply  pay  for  all  good  art  works 
which  have  been  created  since  the  be2:innino^  of  his- 
tory. 

We  have  liberty  of  speech  now,  at  least  outside  of 
Russia,  and  it  is  a  good  and  glorious  thing  that  man 
should  have  the  right  to  speak,  write,  and  print  with- 
out fear,  whatever  his  thoughts  may  be  upon  any  sub- 
ject of  interest  to  man.  But  humanity  is  a  society 
wherein  heretofore  only  a  favored  few  have  been  per- 
mitted to  talk  in  public,  and  this  privilege  has  been 
extended  to  all  only  recently.  One  would  think 
naturally  that  man  would  be  modest  in  making  use  of 
this  great  privilege  of  addressing  the  world,  that  he 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  TASTE. 


29 


would  hesitate  to  say  anything  unless  lie  had  first 
made  sure  that  he  had  something  to  say  which  was  of 
value  to  his  fellow-men  ;  and  so  he  would,  indeed,  had 
not  some  demon  whispered  in  his  ear  that  he  possessed 
common  sense  and  taste,  and  that  the  majority  of  hu- 
manity looks  upon  these  gifts  of  nature  as  an  inex- 
haustible treasure  that  will  take  the  place  of  'knowledge. 
In  fact,  the  less  a  man  knows,  the  greater  his  opinion 
of  his  common  sense  and  taste. 

What  does  all  this  talk  about  common  sense  and 
taste  amount  to  ?  Simply  that  man  can  see,  and  hear, 
and  feel,  and  smell,  and  that  whenever  he  exerts  any 
of  these  senses  upon  the  matter  which  surrounds  him 
an  impression  is  made  upon  his  mind.  Now,  the  great 
infelicity  in  all  this  is,  that  the  man  of  common  sense 
and  taste  imagines  that  this  mental  impression  is  2,faG- 
simile  of  matter  and  motion  which  he  has  perceived 
with  his  senses,  and  that  he  can  intelligently  compare 
it  with  other  matter  seen  or  heard  that  also  has  left 
an  impression  on  his  mind.  This  is  unfortunately  not 
true.  Take,  for  example,  the  simplest  article  of  wearing 
apparel,  a  boot,  or  a  glove,  a  thing  all  of  us  are  in  the 
habit  of  handling  and  examining  daily;  a  chair,  a 
table,  a  dinner-plate,  a  carriage,  a  railroad  train.  How 
many  men  are  there  who  can  make  a  drawing  of  either 
of  these  things,  or  who  can  give  a  lucid  description  of 
the  material  they  are  composed  of,  how  this  material 
is  manufactured,  how  put  together,  by  what  means, 
and  ^vith  what  amount  of  labor, — when  and  how  any 
or  all  these  things  are  good,  bad,  or  indifferent  for  the 
purpose  used,  or  what  is  their  intrinsic  value  ?  Very 
few  men  indeed  know  anything  whatever  of  these 
things. 


30   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


If  we  were  to  tell  the  average  man  that  his  common 
sense  is  insufficient  to  guide  him  in  purchasing,  selling, 
or  using  any  of  these  commodities,  he  would  think 
himself  insulted. 

But  when  we  come  to  matters  of  art  and  of  nature 
we  find  men  still  more  profoundly  ignorant ;  yet  no 
one  hesitates  at  a  critical  opinion  on  any  work  of 
art,  unless  indeed  he  is  considerably  advanced  in  his 
knowledge  of  what  art  really  is.  "  I  know  when  I 
like  a  thing  and  what  I  like  suits  my  taste ;  and  al- 
though I  may  not  have  as  much  or  as  cultivated  a 
taste  as  my  neighbor,  the  little  I  have  is  as  good  as 
that  of  any  other  person.  My  wife  is  a  milliner,  and 
I  ought  to  have  taste  enough  to  Judge  of  a  painting  or 
a  statue ;  my  grandfather  was  a  builder,  and  a  taste  for 
architecture  runs  in  the  family ;  my  great-uncle  fre- 
quently expressed  his  approval  of  Shakespeare  and 
Milton,  and  I  should  think  I  know  something  of  litera- 
tui^e."    This  is  the  popular  talk  on  taste. 

Men  who  never  saw  or  heard  of  a  good  architectu- 
ral monument  boldly  ask  reputable  architects  to  submit 
for  their  approval  designs  for  churches,  libraries,  mu- 
seums, and  court-houses,  because  their  associates  in 
some  building  interest,  who  professedly  know  less  of 
the  subject  than  they  do,  have  selected  them  for  that 
purpose  as  men  of  taste.  The  very  fact  that  these 
men  are  willing  to  sit  in  Judgment  on  a  series  of  archi- 
tectural designs,  and  rest  theii'  interests,  or  the  inter- 
ests of  others  upon  their  decision  in  an  art  matter, 
which,  to  understand  clearly,  demands  the  study  of  a 
life,  shows  conclusively  that  these  men  are  profoundly 
ignorant  of  the  subject. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  man  to  ask  of  nature  any  ques- 


COMMON  8EN8E  AND  TASTE. 


31 


tion  whatever,  and  slie  will  answer  him  trnly,  unlike 
the  sibyl,  not  in  words,  but,  like  the  sibyl,  with  an 
enigma.  This  enigma  may  be  read  in  matter,  in  the 
matter  which  composes  this  great  universe,  including 
all  its  combinations,  relations,  motions,  and  organisms, 
not  only  arranged  by  nature  herself,  but  also  as  re- 
created by  man  in  imitation  of  her  works  in  organisms 
known  as  art  productions. 

See,  and  hear,  and  feel,  says  nature  to  man,  and  you 
may  read  all  things,  and  whenever  matter  is  thus  ad- 
dressed it  permits  itself  to  be  read.  For  thousands  of 
years  mankind  has  been  occupied  in  reading  and  re- 
reading this  wonderful  volume  of  nature  and  art,  and 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  as  long  as  man  lives  upon 
the  face  of  this  earth  he  will  continue  to  read  it  with 
interest  and  profit  to  himself. 

As  to  individual  man,  he  reads  but  indifferently 
well,  unfortunately  always  with  the  same  fluency ;  what 
he  has  read  is  clear,  intelligible,  and  complete  to  him  ; 
he  thinks  that  he  can  understand  it  all,  because  all  he 
can  read,  and  hear,  and  see  in  it  he  understands  as  he 
seeSj  and  hears,  and  feels  it,  no  better  and  no  worse. 
If  perchance  in  time  he  learns  to  see  better,  he  will  read 
better,  and  he  is  elated  by  his  progress,  and  thinks  not 
of  his  former  or  his  present  shortcomings. 

A  flower  and  the  Iliad,  a  work  of  nature  and  a  work 
of  art,  may  be  known  to  a  thousand  persons,  and  each 
will  express  unbounded  admiration  for  the  beauty  of 
both ;  yet  if  the  conception  of  them,  as  formed  by  each 
individual,  could  be  weighed  in  a  balance,  we  should 
find  a  thousand  different  values  attached  to  each.  You 
say  you  have  read  Homer  when  a  youth,  and  that 
the  book  has  been  your  constant  companion  during 


32    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


manliood  and  old  age ;  that  you  have  examined  the 
organism  of  that  flower,  and  analyzed  it  chemically 
and  with  the  microscope.  Yet  yon  simple  girl  plucks 
a  rose  because  she  loves  it;  she  dreamilv  turns  the 
leaves  of  your  Homer,  and  extracts  from  it  what  she 
there  finds  beautiful.  Let  us  not  decide  which  of  you 
two  has  been  made  happier  by  either ;  but  if  at  any 
time  I  should  long  to  learn  of  poetry  and  flowers,  I 
shall  sit  at  your  feet  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER  11. 


THE  AIM  OF  ARCHITECTUEE. 

Science,  common  sense,  and  taste  supply  the  world 
with  knowledge.  Let  us  see  liow  art,  and  more  es- 
pecially architecture,  is  thriving  with  the  help  of  this 
knowledge.  In  order  to  form  a  correct  view  of  the 
condition  of  architecture,  it  will  be  well  to  examine 
its  great  aim  at  the  present  day,  to  create  a  new 
style. 

The  present  condition  of  architecture  may  be  in- 
ferred from  the  question  constantly  asked,  "  Will  the 
civilized  world,  England,  America,  France,  or  any 
other  civilized  country,  ever  have  a  new  style  of  archi- 
tecture ? "  There  is  no  indication  that  this  question 
was  ever  asked  by  the  Egyptians,  Greeks,  and  Ro- 
mans, or  by  the  nations  of  Europe  during  the  Middle 
Ages ;  nor  are  the  Chinese,  Japanese,  and  Persians  in- 
terested in  it  at  the  present  day ;  it  is  eminently  the 
concern  of  the  so-called  civilized  world  and  of  the 
nineteenth  century. 

If  architecture  as  an  art  were  complete,  or  if  it 
ever  had  been  perfect  at  any  one  time,  that  is  to  say, 
if  all  the  demands  now  made  upon  it  could  be  fully 
supplied  by  past  experience,  or  if  we  could  find  in  any 
one  period  of  its  history  an  answer  to  every  current 
aesthetic  question,  there  would  be  no  need  of  progress 
3  33 


34   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


in  architecture ;  new  styles  would  arise  from  time  to 
time  as  society  changed  its  needs  and  nature,  and  as 
human  ingenuity  multiplied  its  material;  we  should 
then  see  springing  up  around  us  buildings  of  a  charac- 
ter entirely  hqw  in  expression,  representing  the  many 
new  ideas  and  wants  of  civilized  society  made  possible 
by  modern  science,  and  called  forth  by  political,  social, 
and  religious  changes,  and  by  a  vast  increase  in  the 
best  building  material.  We  should  be  overwhelmed 
with  new  architectural  forms  and  combinations,  and 
have  not  only  a  new  style  of  architecture,  but  a  con- 
stantly growing  and  changing  style.  Indeed  the  va- 
Q'ious  styles  of  the  present  century  would  be  spoken 
of  with  confidence  and  approval.  The  present  activity 
in  building  has  no  parallel  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
The  complexity  of  modern  society  demands  more  vari- 
ous buildings  than  are  furnished  by  any  past  period 
of  architecture,  or  by  all  past  periods  put  together, 
and  the  conditions  which  govern  erections  vary  con- 
stantly from  those  which  preceded  them.  What  state 
of  things  ever  seemed  more  forcibly  to  compel  a  new 
style  in  architecture  than  that  in  which  we  live  ? 

And  yet,  though  monuments  are  built  of  new  ma- 
terials, in  new  places,  to  answer  new  and  heretofore 
unknown  purposes,  they  merely  repeat,  when  they  do 
not  caricature,  past  architecture,  and  we  call  in  vain 
for  a  new  style.  A  new  style,  it  is  evident,  will  not 
come  simply  because  it  is  called  for,  or  hoped  for. 
Architects  think  of  it  and  dream  of  it ;  attempt  it  and 
fail ;  and  finally,  in  despair,  change  their  designs  from 
one  style  to  another,  vaguely  hoping  to  stumble  upon 
one  that  contains  all  the  elements  they  need,  in  the 
•combination  in  which  they  need  them. 


THE  AIM  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


35 


As  we  know  of  no  sucli  struggles  in  tlie  past,  we 
come  to  tlie  conclusion  tliat  arcliitecture  is  dead,  and 
that  we  can  do  no  more  than  to  dig  up  its  varied 
forms  from  the  past  and  apply  them  to  the  need  of 
the  present.  The  question  then  becomes,  What  forms 
are  we  tc  take,  Egyptian,  or  Greek,  or  Eoman,  or 
Mediaeval  ?  The  current  answer  to  this  question  is, 
Take  them  all,  familiarize  yourself  with  them  all ;  but 
when  you  reproduce  them,  be  careful  to  keep  them 
separate,  and  to  use  only  such  as  were  originally  used 
together,  lest  by  mixing  forms  of  different  periods  you 
produce  discord. 

And  thus  the  student  reads  the  history  of  architec- 
ture, and  if  he  is  very  clever  and  industrious  he  dives 
deep  into  archaeology.  Give  him  a  section  of  a  label 
moulding,  or  of  an  abacus,  and  he  will  reconstruct  the 
building  for  you  from  which  it  is  taken.  His  mind  is 
a  museum  of  architectural  history,  and  architecture 
becomes  to  him  a  knowledge  of  forms,  connected  with 
dates  and  places,  but  not  quite  clearly  with  the  ideas 
which  have  given  them  existence.  He  finds  that  these 
forms  harmonize  best  in  the  relation  in  which  they  are 
placed  by  their  authors ;  and  in  order  to  preserve  the 
harmony  and  unity  of  works  of  architectural  art  as 
they  appear  in  the  past,  he  copies  them  in  the  exact 
relation  in  which  he  finds  them.  Hence  mere  division 
into  styles  no  longer  affords  a  well-arranged  index  of 
art.  It  becomes  necessary  to  divide  and  subdivide 
styles,  until  there  are  as  many  types  almost  as  there 
are  individual  monuments,  and  when  the  problem  of 
designing  a  new  structure  is  met  face  to  face,  and  it  is 
found  that  its  requirements  do  not  agree  with  those  of 
any  monument  erected  at  least  five  hundred  years  ago, 


36    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


the  arcliitect  becomes  indignant  at  modem  wants,  and 
declares  tliem  to  be  outside  the  pale  of  arcMtectural 
art. 

Mr.  Euskin,  in  his  introduction  to  the  Seven  Lamps 
of  Architecture,  says  :  "  What  is  true  of  human  jDolity 
seems  to  me  not  less  so  of  the  distinctively  political  art 
of  architecture.  I  have  long  felt  convinced  of  the  neces- 
sity, in  order  to  its  progress,  of  some  determined  effort 
to  extricate  from  the  confused  mass  of  partial  traditions 
and  dogmata  with  which  it  has  become  encumbered 
during  imperfect  or  restricted  practice,  those  large 
principles  of  right  which  are  applicable  to  every  stage 
and  style  of  it.  Uniting  the  technical  and  imaginative 
elements  as  essentially  as  humanity  does  soul  and 
body,  it  shows  the  same  infirmly  balanced  liability  to 
the  prevalence  of  the  lower  part  over  the  higher,  to 
the  interference  of  the  constructive  with  the  purity 
and  simplicity  of  the  reflective  element.  This  tend- 
ency, like  every  other  form  of  materialism,  is  increas- 
ing with  the  advance  of  the  age ;  and  the  only  laws 
which  resist  it,  based  upon  partial  precedents  and 
already  treated  with  disrespect  as  decrepit,  if  not  with 
defiance  as  tyrannical,  are  evidently  inapplicable  to 
the  new  forms  and  functions  of  the  art  which  the 
necessities  of  the  day  demand.  How  many  these  ne- 
cessities may  become  cannot  be  conjectured ;  they  rise, 
strange  and  impatient,  out  of  every  modern  shadow  of 
change.  How  far  it  may  be  possible  to  meet  them 
without  a  sacrifice  of  the  essential  character  of  archi- 
tectural art,  cannot  be  determined  by  specific  calculation 
or  observance.  There  is  no  law,  no  principle  based 
upon  past  practice,  which  may  not  be  overthrown  in  a 
moment  by  the  arising  of  a  new  condition,  or  the  in- 


THE  AIM  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  37 


vention  of  a  new  material ;  and  tlie  most  rational,  if  not 
tlie  only  mode  of  averting  the  danger  of  an  utter  dis- 
solution of  all  that  is  systematic  and  consistent  in  our 
practice,  or  of  ancient  authority  in  our  judgment,  is  to 
cease  for  a  little  while  our  endeavors  to  deal  with  the 
multiplying  host  of  abuses,  restraints  or  requirements; 
and  endeavor  to  determine,  as  the  guides  of  every  effort, 
some  constant,  general  and  irrefragable  laws  of  right 
— laws  which,  based  upon  man's  nature,  not  upon  his 
knowledge,  may  possess  so  far  the  unchangeableness 
of  the  one,  as  that  neither  the  increase  nor  imperfec- 
tion of  the  other  may  be  able  to  assault  or  invalidate 
them." 

"  The  necessities  of  the  day,  as  they  arise  in  multi- 
tudes not  to  be  conjectured,  strange  and  impatient,  out 
of  every  modern  shadow  of  change,  new  conditions 
and  the  invention  of  new  material,  threaten  to  over, 
throw  in  a  moment  the  laws  and  principles  of  past 
practice." 

A  reflective  mind  would  inquire  at  this  stage  of  the 
argument — do  I  know  the  laws  and  principles  of  past 
practice  ?  If  I  do  know  those  laws,  how  is  it  that 
they  can  be  overthrown  in  a  moment  by  modern  con- 
ditions and  materials  ?  Laws  are  eternal,  if  true ;  if 
not  eternal,  they  are  false,  not  laws  at  all.  Wherein 
am  I  misled  in  my  judgment  ? 

A  frank  inquiry  of  this  kind  might  have  led  the 
author  to  the  conclusion  that  the  laws  and  principles 
of  past  practice  are  either  not  known  to  him,  or  that 
the  laws  and  principles  of  past  practice  are  erroneous 
laws. 

The  truth  is,  that  the  author  was  not  thinking  of 
laws,  but  of  forms,  the  result  of  laws,  and  of  certain 


38  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


relations  of  forms  wMch  have  been  rasUy  assumed 
to  be  laws.  It  is  upon  forms  that  his  imagination 
dwells,  upon  the  outward  and  visible  results  of  laws 
at  which  he  has  not  arrived,  and  it  is  to  these  forms 
that  he  recurs  throughout  the  book.  These  forms 
Mr.  Euskin  recommends  for  various  reasons,  very  few 
of  which  have  any  relation  to  principles,  and  his  at- 
tempts to  refer  his  personal  preferences  to  abiding 
and  universal  laws  are  uniformly  unsuccessful,  while 
the  laws  which  he  invents  to  justify  his  preferences  are 
usually  even  more  whimsical  and  fanciful  than  the 
preferences  they  are  invented  to  justify.  Many  of 
these  forms  he  praises  because  he  is  unfamiliar  with 
better  forms  of  a  similar  kind,  and  imperfect  forms 
therefore  seem  perfect  to  him ;  and  not  a  few  because 
they  have  left  on  his  mind  a  foggy  picture,  which, 
had  he  analyzed  it,  would  have  satisfied  him  less. 
His  illustrations  exhibit  this  same  vagueness  ;  they  are 
not  representations,  but  imcertain  impressions  only,  of 
the  things  he  saw. 

If  writers  upon  the  theory  of  architecture  thus  fail 
to  survey  the  whole  field,  with  the  \dew  of  deriving 
from  all  periods  and  schools  of  architecture  the  law^s 
which  underlie  and  generate  their  forms,  it  is  not 
to  be  expected  that  more  than  a  small  minority  of 
practicing  architects,  or  of  students  whose  studies 
are  to  result  in  practice,  should  undertake  the  examina- 
tion of  architectural  forms.  The  great  majority,  eager 
to  become  practitioners  and  to  make  a  living,  and 
appalled  at  the  labor  which  a  study  of  architecture 
involves,  confine  themselves  to  forms  of  a  particular 
period,  devote  themselves  to  a  specialty,  and  study 
only  a  style. 


THE  AIM  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


39 


Greek  forms,  for  various  reasons,  have  tlie  greatest 
number  of  votaries.  Perhaps  laziness,  moral  laziness, 
may  be  the  chief  of  these  reasons,  considering  that 
Greek  forms  are  eminently  simple  and  have  been 
carefully  sorted,  measured,  and  labeled  by  various 
authors.  Besides,  the  young  architect,  upon  entering 
the  temple  of  art  from  the  back  door  of  history,  finds 
them  stored  near  that  entrance,  and  with  the  ardor  of 
youth  he  revels  in  them  for  a  while,  and  soon  begins 
to  think  that  they  alone  are  sufficient  for  all  purposes 
of  active  work. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  century  this  was  the 
universal  condition  of  the  profession.  The  land  was 
flooded  with  Greek  temples.  We  had  Greek  temples 
for  churches,  school-houses,  libraries,  courts  of  justice, 
custom-houses,  exchanges,  post-offices,  colleges,  thea- 
ters, and  beer-shops — all  Greek  temples  alike.  There 
were  large  and  small  temples,  temples  of  brick  and  of 
wood,  of  stone  and  of  plaster. 

Koman,  Renaissance,  and  Mediaeval  forms  have  in 
turn  been  brought  into  requisition,  with  very  nearly 
the  same  artistic  result.  We  say  nearly,  because 
Mediaeval  art  contains  examples  of  many  kinds  of 
buildings  which  are  still  needed  in  our  times,  and  our 
architects  were  not  put  to  the  necessity  of  projecting 
cathedrals  to  answer  the  purposes  of  mercantile,  social, 
educational,  and  other  structures,  in  the  same  manner 
in  which  the  Greek  and  Eoman  temple  was  called 
upon  to  do  duty  by  our  predecessors  at  the  beginning 
of  this  century. 

The  profession  has  become  divided  upon  this  ques- 
tion of  styles.  The  majority  practices  classic  archi- 
tecture, or  its  modern  resultant,  the  Renaissance;  a 


40  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


minority  devotes  itself  to  Mediaeval  art.  There  is 
also  a  class  which,  hanging  on  the  outskirts  of  these 
two  great  divisions,  professes  to  be  eclectic  in  its  con- 
victions, and  flits  from  one  style  to  another  as  outward 
circumstances  or  inward  promptings  may  incline  it. 

At  one  time,  not  long  ago,  the  two  great  parties  in 
architecture,  viz.,  the  Mediaeval  and  the  Renaissance 
architects,  were  arrayed  in  hostile  camps,  and  carried 
on  a  war  of  words  in  defense  of  their  respective  styles. 
The  Medisevalists  urged  that  Antique  architecture  con- 
tained a  limited  series  of  forms,  which,  based  upon  the 
simple  ideas  of  a  polytheistic  mythology,  and  confined 
to  the  primitive  Greek  and  Roman  methods  of  con- 
struction, are  inadequate  to  express  the  complicated 
ideas  of  the  present  time,  and  that  Romanesque  and 
Gothic  architecture  did  contain  forms  of  greater 
variety,  in  fact,  covered  the  whole  ground  of  kno\\Ti 
methods  of  construction  and  material,  and  ranged  the 
realm  of  decoration  without  restraint  of  any  kind. 
In  consequence  of  all  this.  Mediaeval  architecture,  they 
thought,  should  be  adopted  as  the  architecture  of  the 
day ;  and  if  its  forms,  as  we  find  them,  do  not  express 
modern  thought,  or  if  they  do  express  ideas  which  we 
have  now  abandoned,  we  should  still  adopt  Mediaeval 
architecture  as  the  starting  point  of  a  new  school,  and 
develop  upon  this  basis  a  new  architecture  of  our  own. 
This  reasonable  argument  was  rejected  by  the  Renais- 
sance party,  Gothic  architecture  to  it  expressed  noth- 
ing but  superstition,  oppression,  and  ignorance  ;  it  was 
rude  and  brutal,  fantastic  and  trifling  in  character, 
complicated  and  restless  in  detail,  and  could  not  in 
any  manner  compare  with  the  grand  simplicity  of  the 
Antique.    If  any  basis  of  progi-ess  in  architecture  was 


THE  AIM  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  41 


to  be  adopted,  the  Renaissance  was  the  proper  point 
of  departure,  and  from  it  should  be  developed  the 
architecture  of  the  future. 

These  arguments,  in  turn,  could  not  have  failed  to 
convince  the  community  at  large,  and  would  have 
inevitably  silenced  the  Mediaeval  party  had  the  Renais- 
sance school  developed  Antique  art  according  to  prom- 
ise ;  nor  would  the  Renaissance  party  have  continued 
this  useless  war  had  the  Mediaeval  party  in  the  mean 
time  changed  Gothic  forms  and  adjusted  them  more 
nearly  to  modern  feeling. 

Like  most  wars,  this  ended  in  exhaustion  on  both 
sides;  both  lost  much  of  the  respect  of  the  com- 
munity and  diminished  the  opportunities  of  profes- 
sional employment.  The  sinews  of  war  gave  out.  A 
truce  was  established  on  the  basis  of  a  division  of  the 
possible  spoils,  with  a  semblance  of  mutual  respect  and 
reconciliation. 

Before  the  public,  the  parties  admitted  both  Antique 
and  Mediaeval  architecture  to  be  respectable  systems 
of  art,  each  fully  capable  of  expressing  ideas ;  confessed 
that  ideas  are  at  best  somewhat  unsettled  at  present, 
that  methods  of  construction  may  be  conveniently  con- 
cealed if  they  cannot  be  expressed,  and  that  the  selec- 
tion of  architectural  forms  is  very  much  a  matter  of 
taste. 

In  private,  old  arguments  are  rehearsed,  and  if  they 
convince  no  one,  they  hurt  no  one's  feelings,  being 
confined  to  small  circles  in  which  the  members  are  of 
one  mind. 

And  so  both  parties  continue  to  use  old  forms  for 
modern  purposes,  and  both  fail  in  doing  so.  Each 
party  clearly  sees  the  failure  of  the  other,  and  ascribes 


42   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


it  to  the  style  adopted  as  the  basis  of  operations,  and 
neither  advances  beyond  the  starting  point. 

It  would  be  unjust  to  the  profession  not  to  remem- 
ber some  good  results  of  this  lamentable  condition  of 
things,  viz.,  the  archaeological  work  in  the  excavations 
of  Antique,  and  the  active  and  successful  restoration 
and  completion  of  Mediaeval  monuments. 

Nevertheless  architecture  to-day  is  practically  noth- 
ino;  more  than  a  collection  of  assorted  forms,  the  ele- 
ments  of  which  are  but  little  considered,  and  the  origin 
of  which  is  hardly  known.  When  architects  speak  of 
progress  in  architecture,  they  mean  possible  new  forms 
which  must  be  invented  with  great  labor  of  the  imagi- 
nation. When  old  forms  are  applied,  it  is  done  with- 
out reference  to  construction  and  material.  A  cornice 
is  supposed  to  be  a  sort  of  architectural  decoration, 
and  not  a  stone  covering  a  wall,  hence  wooden  and  zinc 
cornices,  cast  iron  capitals,  gargoyles  in  places  where  no 
water  runs,  and  buttresses  where  there  is  no  lateral 
pressure,  arches  of  lath  and  plaster  where  there  is 
no  abutment,  columns  which  support  nothing ;  balus- 
trades in  places  where  no  one  can  possibly  walk,  and 
battlements  upon  peaceful  libraries  and  school-houses. 
It  is  true  that  a  very  respectable  number  of  modern 
architects  are  never  guilty  of  these  gross  errors,  but 
how  many  are  there  who  are  willing  to  forego  a  tower 
simply  because  it  is  not  needed  either  physically  or 
aesthetically,  or  a  flying  buttress,  if  by  an  ingenious 
argument  it  may  be  justified  ? 

Architectural  forms,  like  musical  compositions,  con- 
tain but  few  elements,  but  these  are  capable  of  a  great 
number  of  combinations.  Nor  is  it  necessary  that 
these  combinations  should  be  laboriously  sought  for; 


THE  AIM  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  43 


they  arise  naturally  out  of  the  conditions  of  the  struc- 
ture, out  of  the  idea  which  has  given  rise  to  it,  and 
out  of  the  material  used  in  its  construction.  They 
are  of  value  only  in  expressing  all  these  conditions, 
and  of  no  art  value  whatever  if  brought  about  in  any 
other  away. 

The  modem  architect,  for  reasons  which  will  here- 
after be  discussed,  but  rarely  refers  an  architectural 
composition  to  the  idea  which  has  given  rise  to  it. 
He  often  ignores  or  neglects  the  construction  and  the 
possibilities  of  the  material  employed,  as  technical 
matters  beneath  his  notice,  but  imagines  that  after  a 
structure  has  been  technically  designed,  so  far  as  it 
is  necessary  to  answer  its  practical  purposes,  either  by 
some  engineer  or  by  himself,  then  the  labor  of  the  ar- 
chitect begins  by  inclosing  the  structure  on  the  out- 
side and  lining  it  on  the  inside  with  a  skin  of  archi- 
tectural forms  gathered  from  his  general  fund,  in 
accordance  with  the  dictates  of  his  taste. 


CHAPTER  HI 


TASTE. 

Taste  being  the  principal  motive  power  wMcIl  sup- 
plies the  modern  architect  witli  the  mental  help  by 
which  his  art  work  is  created,  it  becomes  desirable  to 
define  its  nature  as  it  is  popularly  understood. 

laste,  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  commonly  under- 
stood, is  a  delusion  and  a  snare. 

It  is  supposed  to  be  a  species  of  sixth  sense  with 
which  nature  has  endowed  man,  so  that  he  may  un- 
derstand works  of  art  without  analysis,  and  produce 
them  without  reflection.  More  bad  art  has  been  pro- 
duced and  encouraged,  and  more  injury  done  to  good 
art  by  this  delusion,  than  by  all  other  adverse  causes 
put  together. 

People  who  have  no  knowledge  of  art  experience 
a  pleasurable  emotion  in  the  presence  of  a  work  of 
art,  hence  it  is  rashly  assumed  that  these  persons 
possess  this  sixth  sense,  taste.  This  would  be  true 
were  the  pleasurable  emotion  in  all  cases  proportionate 
in  degree  to  the  merits  of  the  work  admired,  but  ex- 
perience tells  us  that  the  reverse  is  the  case — that  the 
majority  of  men  enjoy  pleasurable  emotions  from  aiij 
works  of  the  lowest  degree,  and  none  whatever  from 
art  of  a  high  class. 

We  frequently  encounter  rugged  natures  who  do 

U 


TASTE, 


45 


not  hesitate  to  avow  that  they  abominate  the  opera, 
hate  statuaiy  and  architecture,  and  would  not  give 
sixpence  for  all  the  paintings  in  the  world ;  they  at- 
tend concerts  and  visit  galleries  of  art  from  a  sense 
of  social  duty,  but  do  not  conceal  it  that  they  are 
bored  in  doing  so.  While  one  person  delights  in  good 
literature,  thousands  read  trash  with  avidity.  A  mon- 
ument of  architecture  may  produce  an  impression,  by 
reason  of  its  magnitude,  cost,  or  novelty,  but  none  of 
the  elements  which  constitute  its  merit  as  a  work  of 
art  are  recognized  directly  by  the  multitude. 

The  mass  of  bad  architecture  tolerated  and  paid 
for  is  a  practical  proof  that  taste  is  the  property  of 
but  a  few,  and  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  it  is  in 
any  case  a  natural  gift,  or  the  result  of  study. 

Taste  is  said  to  be  variable,  according  to  the  pro- 
verb, that  "  there  is  no  accounting  for  taste."  It  would 
be  difficult  to  persuade  men  to  adopt  a  variable  unit 
of  measure,  yet  art  is  saddled  with  a  judge  who  tries 
its  merits  with  a  yard-stick  varying  from  three  feet 
plus  to  three  feet  minus. 

Of  course  this  incongruity  is  more  or  less  apparent, 
and  we  hear  specious  talk  of  cultivated  taste.  If  taste 
is  perfect  in  the  ratio  of  its  cultivation,  then  unculti- 
vated taste  can  be  of  no  value  in  art. 

Architects  and  laymen  during  the  last  two  cen- 
turies have  abhorred  the  use  of  color  as  a  means  of 
decoration,  everything  not  painted  white  or  white- 
washed, being  pronounced  ugly,  sinful,  wicked,  and 
^nilgar.  This  betrays  not  only  the  absence  of  natural 
taste,  but  a  capability  for  a  negative  taste,  a  universal 
dislike  of  what  is  desirable  in  art. 

The  pleasurable  emotion  produced  by  art  work  is 


46  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


so  mixed  up  with  habits  and  witli  personal,  religious, 
and  social  prepossessions,  that  it  becomes  unsafe  to 
claim  for  our  likes  and  dislikes  of  various  forms  of 
art  the  authority  which  belongs  to  a  just  standard  of 
aesthetic  merit.  The  conditions  under  which  we  see 
works  of  art,  the  length  of  time  we  pass  with  them 
and  under  their  influence,  and  the  opportunities  we 
have  had  to  see  other  works  of  similar  aim  with  which 
to  compare  them,  all  have  much  to  do  with  the  judg- 
ment we  form,  and  we  are  not  therein  assisted  by  a 
natural  taste. 

The  architecture  of  Venice,  heightened  in  its 
picturesque  effects  by  an  Italian  sky  and  the  ever- 
present  Adriatic,  and  hallowed  by  historical  reminis- 
cences of  the  wonderful  power  and  success  of  a  hand- 
ful of  patricians  and  merchants  during  several  cen- 
turies, has  left  upon  the  sensitive  mind  of  Mr.  Ruskin 
an  indelible  impression  which  dulls  his  perceptions 
of  the  beauties  of  architectural  art  outside  of  Venice, 
and  blinds  him  to  many  glaring  defects  of  Venetian 
architecture  itself.  Why  is  he  not  equitable  and  just 
in  his  judgment,  through  the  mere  force  of  his  nat- 
ural taste  ? 

Art  history  has  preserved  to  us  a  few  isolated  ex- 
amples of  architectural  art  ( few  compared  with  the 
great  mass  of  work,  attempted  during  historic  times), 
the  production  of  a  small  number  of  men  whose 
labors  have  enriched  the  world,  and  who  appear  like 
bright  stars  upon  a  firmament  of  general  darkness. 
We  know  of  long  intervals  of  inactivity  and  retro- 
gression in  architecture  among  all  nations  and  more 
especially  in  what  is  called  the  civilized  world.  We 
may  say  that  the  good  work  done  in  the  best  of  times 


TASTE, 


47 


is  but  a  small  percentage  of  the  wliole  of  tlie  work 
attempted,  and  that  during  whole  centuries  no  good 
work  whatever  has  been  done  in  countries  like  France, 
England,  Germany,  Spain,  and  Italy.  Why  has  the 
sixth  sense  lain  dormant  during  all  these  centuries,  if 
taste  is  inherent  in  the  human  mind  ? 

Think  of  the  period  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  Rococo  of 
the  European  continent,  the  palaces  of  the  great  built 
in  forms  so  vile  and  unmeaning  that  we  regret  the 
tardiness  of  time  and  the  elements  in  not  wiping  them 
off  the  face  of  the  earth.  There  they  stand,  living 
witnesses  of  the  ignorance  and  folly  of  the  architects 
who  designed  them,  monuments  of  the  depravity  of 
the  generation  which  approved  and  admired  them, 
and  of  living  multitudes  who  still  accept  them  as 
works  of  art.  Are  we  warranted  in  assuming  that  the 
architects  of  the  Rococo  and  their  public  were  en- 
dowed with  taste  ?  And  yet  all  Europe  thought  so 
in  their  time. 

Look  at  the  condition  of  architecture  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  present  century  ;  look  at  what  passes  for 
architecture  with  the  multitude  to-day,  the  cardboard 
Gothicism  of  our  churches,  the  vulgarity  and  preten- 
sion of  our  dwellings,  the  stage  effects  of  public  build- 
ings generally.  Do  we  not  know  that  nine-tenths, 
aye,  ninety-nine  in  a  hundred  of  all  these  structures, 
put  up  by  so-called  architects,  architects  of  reputa- 
tion, and  schools  of  architects,  and  admired  by  their 
patrons  and  the  public,  are  of  no  t^alue  as  works  of 
art  ?    Does  this  show  the  existence  of  natural  taste  f 

Progress  in  science  is  greater  or  less  at  times, 
but  its  truths  constantly  accumulate,  and  mankind 
enjoys  at  all  times  the  sum  of  all  truths  hitherto  at- 


48  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


tained ;  the  architect  wilfully  abandons  the  experience 
of  centuries,  not  because  he  denies  its  value,  but  be- 
cause he  dislikes  the  use  made  of  this  experience  by 
others.  The  forms  to  which  it  led  do  not  suit  his 
taste,  and  his  taste  is  paramount  with  him ;  it  takes 
the  place  of  reasoning,  of  study,  of  knowledge,  of  judg- 
ment, of  facts,  of  ideas,  of  everything  which  is  a  motive 
of  action  with  other  men ;  and  it  is  his  taste  which  has 
done  more  injury  to  architecture  than  any  or  all  other 
causes  combined. 

The  young  student  of  architecture  very  soon  dis- 
covers that  he  is  possessed  of  much  taste ;  in  fact,  his 
parents  remember,  with  interest,  that  he  has  been  so 
gifted  from  his  childhood.  His  taste  prompts  him  to 
attempt  composition  at  a  very  early  stage  of  his  educa- 
tion. Mathematical  study,  reading  of  any  kind,  is  not 
as  pleasurable  as  the  exercise  of  his  taste  in  drawing 
sketches  of  possible  buildings.  To  draw  carefully 
existing  monuments  is  hard  work,  as  is  well  known  to 
the  pupils  of  the  European  academies,  where  this  is 
the  constant  practice ;  but  to  make  sketches,  to  com- 
pose, is  a  pleasure  most  pupils  affect. 

In  this  way  a  few  years  devoted  to  the  study  of 
architecture  flit  by,  and  the  only  thing  certain  is  that 
^  the  student  has  not  mastered  mathematics,  mechanics, 
and  construction,  but  is  very  fond  of  making  original 
sketches,  and  he  brings  to  the  practice  of  his  vocation 
a  profound  conviction  that  he  is  a  man  of  prodigious 
taste  ;  that  taste  for  art  and  taste  for  dry  science  never 
are  joined  in  one  individual,  and  that  his  inspirations 
will  carry  him  to  a  pinnacle  of  fame  which  cannot  be 
reached  by  mere  drudgery. 

The  moment  he  is  called  upon  to  do  real  work  he 


TASTE. 


49 


proceeds  to  develop  a  full-fledged  composition  out  of 
his  inner  consciousness. 

There  he  sits  over  a  virgin  sheet  of  paper  with  a 
black,  soft  pencil  ready  in  hand  to  catch  the  visions  as 
they  fly.  Does  he  think  of  the  needs  of  his  client,  of 
the  ideas  which  are  to  be  represented  in  his  monu- 
ment, of  the  emotions  which  will  pervade  its  future 
I  occupants,  of  the  groups  which  they  will  form  under 
the  influence  of  these  emotions,  of  the  spaces  required 
to  house  these  groups,  of  their  physical  and  poetical 
relations,  of  the  methods  of  construction  adequate  to 
the  nature  of  the  ideas  to  be  developed  which  are  to 
lead  to  architectural  forms,  of  the  material  which  he 
is  to  use,  and  of  the  forms  it  must  assume  in  the  struc- 
ture ?  No  ;  he  thinks  of  none  of  these.  He  thinks  of 
himself,  of  what  a  fine  opportunity  this  is  to  build  a 
magnificent  structure  ;  he  thinks  of  the  many  lovely 
things  he  can  combine  to  erect  a  wonderful  monu- 
ment. He  has  visions,  while  he  chews  his  pencil — 
visions  of  dreamy  phantoms,  such  as  we  all  have  from 
time  to  time,  of  things  we  do  not  positively  know, 
things  we  have  never  analyzed,  things  which  spring 
up  in  our  brain  full-fledged  -  but  foggy,  of  uncertain 
and  changing  outline,  growing  in  seconds  of  time  to 
great  masses  of  uncertain  elements,  pulpy  clouds,  with 
spangled  points  here  and  there  of  more  definite  shape, 
but  changing  all  the  time  and  evading  our  grasp  while 
we  attempt  to  give  them  definite  expression.  During 
hours  of  dreaming  a  succession  of  woolly  sketches  is 
made  which  are  satisfactory 'in  proportion  as  they  are 
indefinite,  and  which  are  promptly  rejected  the  mo- 
ment they  assume  shape.  There  is  finally  something 
produced  which,  when  artistically  shaded  or  colored, 
4 


50  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


pleases  the  author  amazingly,  but  which  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  subject  in  hand. 

The  architectural  critic  lives  upon  the  same  stock 
in  trade,  taste,  without  the  necessity  of  creating  any- 
thing by  virtue  of  it.  The  architectural  critic  sits 
upon  the  judicial  bench  and  consults  his  oracle,  his 
taste,  and  tells  the  public  that  this  is  bad,  the  other 
good;  this  small,  the  other  large;  this  strong,  the 
other  weak  ;  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  so  seems 
to  him  by  virtue  of  his  taste. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


AKCHITECTUEE. 

The  reason  wliy  architects,  critics  and  the  public 
talk  so  mucli  of  taste,  style  and  forms,  and  so  little  of 
architecture,  is  to  be  found  in  the  prevailing  uncertainty 
as  to  the  nature  of  architectural  art.  RusMn  defines 
^'  architecture  to  be  the  art  which  so  disposes  and  adorns 
the  edifices  raised  by  man,  for  whatsoever  uses,  that  the 
sight  of  them  contribute  to  his  mental  health,  power 
and  pleasure." 

It  seems  from  this  that  Mr.  Ruskin  conceives  a  build- 
ing and  its  architecture  to  be  separable,  and  to  make 
this  point  clear  he  further  says:  "It  is  very  necessary, 
in  the  outset  of  all  inquiry,  to  distinguish  carefully 
between  architecture  and  building;"  and  again,  "Let 
us  therefore  at  once  confine  the  name  (of  architecture) 
to  that  art  which,  takiog  up  and  admitting  as  conditions 
of  its  working  the  necessities  and  common  uses  of  the 
building,  impresses  on  its  form  certain  characters  vener- 
able and  beautiful,  but  otherwise  unnecessary, '''' 

The  characteristics  of  architectural  work  are  now 
enriched  by  another  definition,  which  is  that  this  work 
is  in  itself  unnecessary  ;  but,  as  we  are  distinctly  told 
above,  that  architecture  adorns  the  edifices,  to  the  end 
that  the  sight  of  them  shall  contribute  to  the  mental 
health  and  power  of  man,  a  function  which  is  not  to  be 
51 


52    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


designated  as  unnecessary,  we  must  conclude  that  the 
author  means  that  these  architectural  features  are  un- 
necessary to  a  sound  technical  condition  of  the  building, 
or  to  the  convenience  of  the  human  beings  who  are  to 
occupy  it. 

Not  to  leave  us  in  doubt  on  this  subject,  the  author 
proceeds  as  follows :  "  I  suppose  no  one  would  call  the 
laws  architectural  which  determine  the  height  of  a 
breastwork,  or  the  position  of  a  bastion,  but  if  to  the 
stone  facing  of  that  bastion  be  added  an  unnecessary 
feature,  such  as  a  cable  moulding,  that  is  architecture." 

The  reflections  called  up  in  our  minds  upon  reading 
all  this,  may  be  stated  as  follows  :  If  Salisbury  Cathe- 
dral, for  example,  were  stripped  of  every  statue,  orna- 
ment and  moulding  which  now  adorns  it,  of  everything 
"  unnecessary "  to  the  stability  of  the  cathedral  as  a 
building,  would  not  the  naked  structure  which  remained 
still  tell  the  story  of  a  Christian  idea  and  of  the  emotions 
of  men  imbued  with  that  idea ;  and  would  it  not  thus 
continue  to  contribute  to  the  mental  health,  power  and 
pleasure  of  the  beholder,  and  remain  a  work  of  archi- 
tectural art  ? 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  walls  of  a  theatre  were 
adorned  with  bas-reliefs,  sculptures  and  paintings  repre- 
senting the  Flight  of  the  Holy  Family,  the  Crucifixion, 
the  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  the  Eesignation  of 
Washington, — all  subjects  a  contemplation  of  which 
contributes  to  the  mental  health,  power  and  pleasure  of 
the  beholder, — would  this  system  of  decoration  convert 
the  building  to  which  it  was  applied  into  a  work  of 
architectural  art  ? 

It  is  only  upon  the  theory  that  architectural  art  is 
merely  a  method  of  decorating  a  building  by  paintings, 


ARCHITECTURE, 


63 


and  by  bas-reliefs  and  other  sculpture,  and  tliat  it  lias 
no  relation  to  the  construction  or  the  modelling  of  the 
masses  or  their  arrangement,  that  we  can  appreciate 
Mr.  Euskin's  advice  to  ai'chitects  to  become  sculptors 
and  painters. 

This  is  no  more  true  than  that  the  beauty  of  a  woman 
depends  upon  dress,  jewelry  and  false  hair. 

A  building  may  be  covered  with  sculpture  and  color 
decoration,  both  intrinsically  good,  but  these  may  ruin 
it  as  an  architectural  work,  simply  because  neither 
sculptors  nor  painters  are  architects,  and  hence  may 
have  been  unconscious  of  the  nature  and  functions  of 
the  various  masses  to  be  decorated.  For  example, 
curved  arabesques  or  vines  running  on  the  soffit  of 
an  arch  or  capping,  either  in  bas-relief  or  painting, 
would  destroy  the  apparent  rigidity  of  the  work  and 
would  detract  from  its  repose.  The  function  of  the 
arch  is  the  first  consideration.  When  the  arch  is 
decorated  its  apparent  stability  should  be  enhanced 
by  the  method  of  the  decorator;  if  it  is  not  so  enhanced, 
then  the  architecture  would  be  much  better  without  it. 
A  series  of  statues  succeeding  each  other  in  the  jamb 
and  arch  of  an  opening,  the  topmost  statue  being  placed 
at  such  an  angle  as  to  make  it  certain  that  its  stability 
depends  upon  something  outside  of  itself,  as  we  fre- 
quently find  in  the  best  cathedrals,  is  an  artistic 
defect  which  cannot  be  atoned  for  by  the  presence  of 
the  best  sculpture.  Canova's  statues  on  the  pinnacles 
of  the  cathedral  of  Milan,  and  the  reclining  figures  in 
the  spandrils  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  are  also  instances 
of  this  kind.  When  we  are  further  told  by  Mr.  Ruskin 
that  it  is  proper  to  indulge  in  erections  which  perform 
no  functions  as  parts  of  an  architectural  monument, 


54   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


merely  to  afford  an  opportunity  for  abundant  decora- 
tion and  sculpture,  we  must  conclude  tliat  Mr.  Ruskin 
loves  decoration  and  sculpture,  related  or  not  to  tlie 
ideas  on  wliicli  the  architectural  monument  is  founded, 
and  though  we  may  pardon  his  enthusiasm,  we  cannot 
accept  his  ideas  of  architectural  art*  as  sound.  Mr. 
Ruskin  has  said  and  written  much  on  art,  and  has 
aroused  an  interest  for  it  in  the  community  which  can- 
not fail  to  be  beneficial ;  and  if  we  find  it  necessary  to 
question  his  definitions  and  logic,  it  is  done  to  show 
errors  relating  to  architecture  as  they  exist  in  leading 
minds,  rather  than  to  speak  of  them  as  mere  popular 
prejudices. 

Professor  William  Hosking  ^vrites  upon  the  ele- 
ments of  beauty  in  architecture  as  follows :  "  Har- 
mony, concord,  or  fitness  of  proportions  of  form  of  one 
part  of  a  composition  to  another,  and  in  the  collocation 
of  the  various  enrichments  which  architecture  re- 
quires, is  as  necessary  to  its  beauty  as  simplicity.  We 
do  not  speak  of  the  agreement  which  should  exist 
between  the  manner  or  character  of  a  structure  and  its 
application,  for  that  is  purely  conventional,  and  totally 
independent  of  any  architectural  consideration.  The 
merit  or  demerit  of  a  composition  is  not  at  all  affected 
by  the  use  to  which  the  edifice  is  applied;  neither 
would  its  front  be  more  tolerable,  nor  its  cupola  less 
beautiful  if  St.  Peter's  in  Rome  were  by  the  course  of 
events  to  become  a  democratic  forum  instead  of  a 
Papal  basilica ;  nor  is  the  Monument  of  London  a 
more  or  less  elegant  object,  whether  it  be  understood 
to  record  a  triumph  or  a  defeat,  the  burning  of  the 
city  or  its  re-edification." 

Here  is  the  avowal  of  an  eminent  authority  on 


ARCHITECTURE, 


55 


architecture,  writing  in  tlie  eigMli  edition  of  tlie  En- 
cyclopcedia  Britannica,  tliat  "  The  merit  or  demerit  of 
a  composition  is  not  at  all  affected  by  the  use  to  which 
the  edifice  is  applied." 

Use,  then,  is  entirely  conventional  and  totally  in- 
dependent of  architectural  considerations.  Ergo,  con- 
ventional forms  of  architecture  are  not  the  result  of 
ideas.  When  the  monument  is  to  be  designed,  the 
architect  may  require  to  know  how  large  it  is  to  be 
and  what  is  to  be  its  cost,  but  nothing  of  its  uses  and 
purposes.  That  we  may  have  no  doubt  of  the  emp- 
tiness of  this  writer  s  mind  on  the  subject,  we  are  fur- 
ther informed  in  another  part  of  this  same  article  re- 
lating to  the  "Principles  of  Architectural  Composi- 
tion," "  that  these  (principles)  must  be  different  in  the 
widely  different  species  of  architecture  whose  tenden- 
cies in  the  one  are  to  horizontal  or  depressed,  and  in 
the  other  to  vertical  or  upright  lines  and  forms." 

Here,  again,  it  is  assumed  that  the  principles  of  one 
and  the  same  art  may  differ  according  to  circumstances. 
Principles,  however,  are  fixed  and  eternal.  The  same 
principles  which  established  horizontal  lines  in  Greek 
architecture,  as  the  natural  outcome  of  a  construction 
based  on  the  use  of  the  lintel,  also  determine  the  per- 
pendicular lines  in  mediaeval  architecture,  through 
which  clere-stories  light  an  edifice  containing  a  vast 
congregation,  and  through  which  buttresses  sustain  the 
system  of  interior  arching  resulting  from  this  form 
and  from  advanced  methods  of  construction.  When 
forms  are  thus  confounded  with  principles  or  laws,  we 
are  not  surprised  to  see  it  stated  further  on  under  the 
head  of  "  Vertical  Composition,"  that  "  buttresses  in  a 
pointed  composition  must  not  be  considered  simply  as 


56  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


abutments  to  the  arches  and  aids  to  the  walls  of  a 
structure,  any  more  than  a  cornice  in  horizontal  com- 
position may  be  thought  only  necessaiy  to  cover  or 
protect  the  wall  on  which  it  rests."  "  That  these  were 
the  purposes  for  which  they  were  severally  applied 
originally,  cannot  be  doubted ;  but  although  such  may 
be  their  purposes  we  must  now  consider  them  as  aids 
to  architectural  effect.  Buttresses,  then,  are  of  the 
same  use  in  the  vertical  style  that  cornices  are  in  the 
horizontal,  to  give  character  to  an  elevation  by  throw- 
ing a  mass  of  shadow,  to  relieve  it  of  the  monotony 
necessarily  attendant  on  a  flat  surface,  however  it  may 
be  pierced  or  enriched." 

When  architects  come  to  believe  that  the  fundamen- 
tal idea  of  the  monument  they  are  designing  needs 
not  to  be  considered  in  the  composition,  and  that 
members  which  were  devised  to  supply  a  need  and 
answer  a  purpose,  may  be  introduced  needlessly  and 
purposelessly,  because  their  forms  appeal  to  the  taste 
of  architects,  then  indeed  architecture  as  an  art  is  dead, 
and  we  need  not  exj)ect  new  conditions,  new  materials, 
or  new  ideas  to  give  rise  in  our  structures  to  a  new 
art  expression. 

Mr.  Fergusson,  in  the  introduction  to  his  history  of 
architecture,  speaking  of  architecture  as  an  art,  and 
defining  its  position  among  the  sister  arts,  concludes 
that  a  building  can  tell  no  story,  and  that  it  can  express 
an  emotion  only  by  inference.  If  this  were  really  true, 
then  architecture  would  not  be  a  fine  art  in  any  sense 
of  the  word.  He  also  says :  "  That  in  none  of  its  stages 
is  imitation  an  element  of  architectural  composition. 
No  true  building  ever  was  designed  to  look  like  any- 
thing in  either  the  animal,  vegetable  or  mineral  king- 


ARCHITECTURE. 


67 


doms.  In  all  instances  it  is  essentially  a  creation  of 
man's  mind,  and  designed  to  subserve  some  practical 
purpose  wliicli  he  has  in  view." 

The  author  is  e\ddently  aware  that  imitation  is  an 
element  in  art,  but  he  confounds  imitation  of  the 
methods  of  nature  with  reproduction  of  the  forms  of 
nature.  A  work  of  art,  like  a  work  of  nature,  is  a 
realized  idea,  and  the  ideal  is  the  essence  of  architecture. 
It  is  the  godlike  attempt  to  create  a  new  organism, 
which,  because  it  is  new,  cannot  be  an  imitation  of  any 
work  of  nature,  and,  because  it  is  an  organism,  must  be 
developed  according  to  the  methods  of  nature.  It  is 
this  fact  which  places  architecture,  in  its  aim  at  least, 
above  all  other  arts.  If  a  building  can  express  no 
idea,  as  ideas  are  expressed  in  the  works  and  through 
the  laws  of  nature,  then  architecture  never  was  an 
art. 

It  would  be  a  waste  of  time  here  to  enumerate  the 
popular  errors  as  to  the  nature  and  function  of  archi. 
tecture,  or  to  enlarge  upon  those  of  professional  archi- 
tects and  writers  on  this  subject.  It  is  enough  to 
show  that  leading  architectural  minds  who  are  habitu- 
ally quoted  as  authorities  on  the  philosophy  of  the  art, 
look  upon  an  architectural  monument,  not  as  the  logical 
expression  of  an  idea,  but  as  an  accidental  make-shift 
to  supply  certain  physical  needs,  which,  subsequent  to 
its  creation  is  to  be  in  some  way  adorned.  This  adorn- 
ment again  is  not  considered  as  an  integral  element  of 
the  structure,  but  as  a  thing  which  shall  somehow 
please  the  public,  either  by  furnishing  artificial  shadows 
to  cover  inherent  nakedness,  or  by  introducing  extrane- 
ous art- work,  which  by  its  nature  shall,  independently 
of  the  structure,  produce  art-effects  which  the  structure 


m  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


itself  is  not  capable  of  doing,  or  in  the  doing  of  wliicli 
it  can  take  no  other  part  than  that  of  the  frame  of  a 
painting. 

To  sum  it  all  np,  it  appears  to  be  the  accepted  opin- 
ion that  the  sole  function  of  architecture  as  an  art  is 
to  make  monuments  pleasant  to  behold ;  that  this  may 
be  done  in  any  way  which  to  the  author  of  the  monu- 
ment may  promise  good  results ;  that  it  is  useless  to 
seek  for  a  clue  to  all  this  in  the  organism  of  the  monu- 
ment itself,  or  in  the  nature  of  the  idea  which  has 
called  it  into  existence,  or  to  seek  to  establish  an 
organic  relation  between  the  ornament  and  the  struct- 
ure. The  forms  of  past  architecture  are  valued  in  the 
degree  in  which  they  please  individual  authors ;  their 
function  and  meaning  are  unknown,  and  where  known 
they  are  disregarded.  New  forms  are  looked  forward 
to  which  shall  be  the  offspring  of  the  mind  or  of  the 
imagination.  Their  conditions  also  are  not  that  of 
an  expression  of  certain  mechanical  work  performed 
which  connects  the  material  with  the  ideal,  with  a 
system,  a  principle,  or  a  law,  but  they  result  simply 
from  the  dictum  of  the  author's  taste.  What  must 
become  of  the  value  of  this  taste  when  all  thought 
bearing  upon  the  subject  is  rejected  as  extraneous 
may  be  readily  imagined,  and  its  results  may  be  ob- 
served in  the  work  of  the  last  four  centuries.  That 
such  a  looseness  in  the  definition  of  the  nature  of 
architecture  must  lead  to  false  conceptions  of  its 
characteristics  and  to  other  illogical  reasoning  must 
be  apparent,  but  will  be  more  circumstantially  illus- 
trated in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  V. 


ILLOGMCAL  EEASONIN-G. 

Another  prejudice  or  notion  entertained  by  the 
public,  as  well  as  by  the  profession,  is  the  belief  that 
architecture  is  the  result  of  certain  proportions  of 
length,  breadth  and  height  based  upon  certain  cabalis- 
tic numbers,  or  illustrated  by  geometrical  diagrams 
and  figures,  such  as  triangles,  squares,  circles,  etc. 

Greek  philosophy  has  left  us  an  inheritance  of  this 
kind.  At  one  time  the  vagueness  of  this  belief  per- 
vaded all  science  and  art,  forming  the  stock  in  trade 
of  empirics,  who  dealt  in  mystery  for  the  only  purpose 
for  which  mystery  is  of  use,  namely,  to  cover  up  and 
conceal  defective  reasoning. 

Vitruvius  speculates  numerically  both  on  the  parts 
and  on  the  whole  of  the  perfect  man,  deducing  from  nu- 
merical relationships  the  rash  conclusion  that  the  pro- 
portions of  the  parts  of  the  human  frame,  or  similar 
proportions,  must  likewise  constitute  the  true  propor- 
tions of  the  parts  of  a  perfect  structure.  He  begs 
the  question  by  appealing  to  our  veneration  of  the 
Deity  who  has  made  the  perfect  man,  and  he  argues 
our  obligation  to  imitate  nature  in  our  monuments. 
He  gives  us  no  clue  to  the  rationale  of  these  numerical 
relations  in  the  perfect  man,  nor  in  architectural  struct- 
ures, nor  to  their  correlation,  but  simply  insists  upon 
59 


60   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


the  virtue  of  numerical  relations  in  general,  and  refers 
us  at  once  to  the  proportions  of  the  Greek  temples, 
which  he  fails  to  state  correctly,  for  the  simple  i«eason 
that  he  never  examined  them. 

To  expose  the  fallacy  of  this  and' similar  statements, 
their  logical  errors,  their  speciousness  and  their  evil 
effects  upon  the  mind  of  the  young  and  inexperienced, 
would  involve  more  time  and  space  than  can  be  well 
given  to  it  here,  and  more  than  the  subject  deserves. 

If  it  were  true  that  all  parts  of  the  human  body 
could  be  expressed  in  tenths  of  the  whole,  without 
any  additional  fraction  of  a  tenth,  this  would,  after  all, 
only  refer  to  the  relations  of  the  parts  to  the  whole 
in  what  Vitruvius  designates  as  the  perfect  man.  If 
this  perfection  relates  to  physical  development,  and 
the  man  thus  proportioned  is  the  athlete  of  the  Greeks 
or  the  gladiator  of  the  Romans,  the  proportions  of 
noble  senators,  learned  philosophers,  priests  and  kings, 
must  differ  materially  from  those  of  the  merely  well- 
made  human  animal ;  and  as  natural  beauty  and  a  de- 
gree of  spiritual  expression  far  beyond  that  of  the 
athlete  cannot  be  denied  to  these  classes  of  men,  it 
follows  that  no  standard  of  human  form  can  be  estab- 
lished as  absolute  in  art. 

This  is  also  true  as  to  architectural  monuments.  No 
two  species,  no  two  individual  monuments  of  the  same 
species,  emanate  from  conditions  so  exactly  alike  as  to 
make  imperative  the  same  expressions  of  strength  or 
elegance  or  refinement.  Hence  no  law  of  proportions 
can  be  established  for  more  than  one  structure.  This 
law  of  proportions  means,  if  it  means  anything,  that  an 
architectural  monument,  like  all  matter,  has  form,  which 
form  is  a  relation  of  parts,  (proportion);  the  variety 


ILLOGICAL  REASONING. 


61 


of  proportion,  however,  is  endless,  and  dependent  upon 
an  equally  endless  variety  of  physical  and  ideal  condi- 
tions, to  say  nothing  of  the  ability  of  the  architect  to 
attain  the  expression  resulting  therefrom. 

We  find  in  Fergusson's  "  Hand-Book  of  Architecture" 
the  following  statement  illustrating  the  necessity  of 
stated  proportions  in  monuments  : 

^^To  take  first  the  simplest  form  of  the  proportion: 
let  us  suppose  a  room  built  which  shall  be  an  exact 
cube,  of  say  twenty  feet  each  way, — such  a  proportion 
must  be  bad  and  inartistic,  and  besides  the  height  is 
too  great  for  the  other  dimensions,  apparently  because 
it  is  impossible  to  get  far  enough  away  to  embrace  the 
whole  wall  at  one  view,  or  to  see  even  the  commence- 
ment of  the  roof  without  throwing  the  head  back  and 
looking  upwards.  If  the  height  were  exaggerated  to 
thirty  or  forty  feet,  the  disproportion  would  be  so 
striking  that  no  art  could  render  it  agreeable.  As  a 
general  rule,  a  room  square  in  plan  is  never  pleasing. 
It  is  always  better  that  one  side  should  be  longer  than 
the  other,  so  as  to  give  a  little  variety  to  the  design. 
One  and  a  haK  the  width  has  often  been  recommended, 
and  with  every  increase  of  length  an  increase  of  height 
is  not  only  allowable,  but  indispensable.  Some  such 
rule  as  the  following  seems  to  meet  most  cases.  The 
height  of  the  room  ought  to  be  equal  to  Lalf  its 
width,  plus  the  square  root  of  its  length, — thus  a  room 
twenty  feet  square,  ought  to  have  between  fourteen 
and  fifteen  feet  height;  if  its  length  be  increased  to 
forty  feet,  its  height  must  be  at  least  sixteen  and  a  half 
feet;  if  one  hundred,  certainly  not  less  than  twenty 
feet." 

It  will  be  noticed  that  the  phrases  "must  be  SoJ," 


62    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


"  no  art  could  render  it  agreeaUe,''  "  is  never  pleasing,^'' 
all  have  reference  to  that  great  arbiter,  the  taste  of  the 
author.  The  assertions  are  presented  as  axioms;  no 
valid  reason  is  given  to  demonstrate  their  truth. 

The  statement  is  made  that  the  proportions  of  a  room 
twenty  feet  square  are  bad ;  that  were  this  room  also 
twenty  feet  high,  the  proportions  would  be  worse ;  and 
were  it  thirty  or  forty  feet  high,  they  would  be  so  bad 
that  no  art  could  render  them  agreeable.  The  only 
reason  given  is,  that  one  could  not,  within  the  limits 
of  the  room,  embrace  the  whole  height  of  the  opposite 
wall  without  throwing  back  his  head.  Are  the  dome 
of  St.  Peter's  and  the  cathedral  at  Cologne  bad  archi- 
tectural works  because  we  cannot  see  them  without 
crossing  the  channel  ?  Besides,  it  is  not  true  that  we 
cannot  see  the  opposite  walls  in  a  room  twenty  feet 
wide  and  twenty  feet  high  at  one  glance  mthout 
raising  the  head.  More  than  this :  if  a  central  room, 
opening  upon  four  adjoining  rooms,  needs  to  be  carried 
above  the  roofs  of  these  rooms  for  the  purpose  of 
receiving  light  from  a  clere-story,  a  height  of  thirty  or 
forty  feet  would  not  in  the  least  interfere  with  its  artistic 
expression ;  and  if  this  purpose  is  properly  indicated 
in  the  modeling  of  such  a  room,  this  extraordinary 
height  would  become  an  element  of  beauty. 

Also,  it  is  not  true  that  a  room  of  which  the  ground- 
plan  is  a  perfect  square  is  for  that  reason  inartistic. 
If  the  functions  of  the  room  are  the  same  in  every 
direction,  either  by  reason  of  the  relation  of  the  room 
to  adjoining  rooms,  or  by  reason  of  a  concentrating 
interest  toward  its  center,  then  the  form  of  its  ground- 
plan,  to  be  artistic,  must  be  a  square,  a  circle,  or  an 
octagon. 


ILLOGICAL  REASONING. 


63 


But  Mr.  Fergnsson  tells  us  in  all  seriousness  tliat  to 
build  a  room  twenty  feet  wide,  its  length  must  be 
thirty  feet,  and  its  beiglit  must  be  fifteen  feet  four 
inches,  or  else  its  form  is  not  artistic.  Can  this  be 
true  in  all  cases,  whether  it  be  a  drawing-room,  sitting- 
room,  library,  or  dining-room,  whether  its  roof  be  flat 
or  arched,  or  whether  it  be  for  the  use  of  a  private 
citizen  or  for  a  king  ? 

If  certain  relations  in  the  dimensions  of  a -room 
favor  aesthetic  results,  these  relations  must  necessarily 
change  when  the  nature  and  functions  of  the  room  are 
changed. 

To  avoid  misunderstanding  it  should  be  stated  here 
that  the  relation  of  masses  to  each  other  as  dependent 
upon  their  mechanical  functions,  both  technically  and 
aesthetically,  are  truly  relations  of  proportion  and  sub- 
ject to  methods  of  reasoning  which  are  well  defined, 
and  which  should  be  well  known  to  the  architect  to 
enable  him  to  compose.  A  moment's  reflection,  how- 
ever, will  show  that  the  dimensions  of  a  room  or  space 
of  any  kind  can  bear  no  other  relations  to  each  other 
than  those  determined  by  the  use  (practical  as  well  as 
aesthetic)  for  which  such  a  room  is  built. 

The  proportions  of  masses  as  found  in  monuments 
of  architecture  have,  like  all  human  works,  grave  faults 
interspersed  with  undoubted  merits.  The  principles 
by  which  they  are  to  be  judged  will  be  discussed  here- 
after, and  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  at  this  time  that 
there  is  no  short  cut  to  architectural  proportions.  If 
such  rules  existed,  and  a  knowledge  of  them  enabled 
men  to  produce  great  architectural  monuments,  archi- 
tecture would  become  a  trade,  and  cease  to  be  an  art. 

Mr.  Euskin,  who  if  not  a  profound,  is  certainly  an 


64   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


earnest  and  enthusiastic  writer  upon  arcMtecture, 
argues  in  Ms  "  Lectures  "  as  follows  : 

"  Now,  then,  I  proceed  to  argue  in  this  manner  from 
what  we  see  in  the  woods  aiid  fields  around  us,  that 
as  they  are  evidently  meant  for  our  delight,  and  as  we 
always  feel  them  to  be  beautiful,  we  may  assume  that 
the  forms  in  which  their  leaves  are  cast  are  indeed 
types  of  beauty,  not  of  extreme  or  perfect,  but  of 
average  beauty* 

And  finding  that  they  invariably  terminate  more 
or  less  in  pointed  arches,  and  are  not  square-headed, 
I  assert  f  the  pointed  arch  to  be  one  of  the  forms 
most  fitted  for  perpetual  contemplation  by  the  human 
mind,  and  that  it  is  one  of  those  which  never  weary 
however  often  repeated,  and  that,  therefore,  being  both 
the  strongest  in  structure  and  a  beautiful  form  (while 
the  square  head  is  both  weak  in  structure  and  an  ugly 
form),  we  are  unwise  ever  to  build  any  other." 

The  fallacies  contained  in  the  foregoing  paragraphs 
explain  themselves  as  soon  as  stated.  The  fields  and 
woods  do  delight  us,  but  have  evidently  not  been 
created  for  this  sole  purpose,  as  is  clear  from  the  fact 
that  they  also  answer  numberless  useful  purposes,  not 
only  for  ourselves,  but  for  hosts  of  the  animal  crea- 
tion. We  should  have  been  delighted,  in  contemplating 
the  woods  and  the  fields,  if  leaves  had  a  differenA 
shape  from  the  one  they  usually  have.    The  cactus 

*  The  author  evidently  imagines  that  a  form,  wherever  found  or  whatever 
the  function  of  the  object  which  is  cast  in  that  form,  if  pleasing  to  us,  may 
be  recognized  as  a  form  typically  beautiful,  to  be  applied  with  aesthetical 
success  and  propriety  to  any  other  object,  no  matter  what  its  function.  He 
is  evidently  oblivious  that  form  is  beautiful  only  in  the  degree  in  which  it 
is  expressive  of  functions. 

f  No  principle  of  art  can  be  established  by  individual  assertion. 

\ 


ILLOGICAL  REASONING. 


65 


and  the  palm  afford  tlie  delight  referred  to  in  a  greater 
degree  on  account  of  their  extraordinary  tropical  de- 
velopment, and  yet  they  are  not  shaped  like  a  Gothic 
arch.  Leaves,  we  are  told,  are  types  of  beauty, 
because  we  always  feel  them  to  be  beautiful.  True ; 
but  so  is  a  horse,  a  woman,  a  running  stream,  a  but- 
terfly, a  bird,  a  lion,  a  cataract,  a  volcano.  Shall  we 
accept  the  forms  of  all  these  objects  of  nature  as  the 
best  form  for  an  arch  on  that  account  ?  It  is  not  true 
that  a  Gothic  arch  is  especially  strong,  nor  that  a 
straight  lintel  is  weak  in  structure,  nor  that  it  is  ugly 
in  form.  Nor  should  we  in  reason  apply  the  forms  of 
an  object  to  that  of  a  space,  like  a  window  or  a  door. 

But  Mr.  Ruskin,  in  spite  of  his  enthusiasm,  evidently 
feels  the  weakness  of  his  own  assertion,  and  he  con- 
tinues as  follows : 

"Here,  however,  I  must  anticipate  another  objec- 
tion. It  may  be  asked  why  we  are  to  build  only  the 
tops  of  the  windows  pointed.  Why  not  follow  tlie 
leaves  and  point  them  at  the  bottom  also  ?  "  A  lurk- 
ing suspicion  that,  after  all,  this  reasoning  is  so  illogical 
that  it  may  be  refuted  by  the  simplest  mind  becomes 
apparent.  The  author  evidently  begins  to  doubt  his 
theory ;  but  rather  than  admit  that  the  form  of  a  win- 
dow is  not  to  be  governed  by  that  of  a  leaf,  and  that 
the  reasons  w^hich  may  exist  for  the  construction  of 
the  one  do  not  apply  to  the  other,  he  further  involves 
architecture  in  the  additional  fallacy  that  "while  in 
architecture  you  are  continually  called  upon  to  do 
what  is  unnecessary  for  the  sake  of  beauty,  you  are 
never  called  upon  to  do  what  is  inconvenient  for  the 
sake  of  beauty;  you  want  the  level  window-sill  to 
lean  upon." 

5 


66   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


An  argument  like  the  following,  by  the  same  author, 
needs  to  be  cited  only  to  show  the  carelessness  with 
Avhich  important  questions  .  in  architectural  art  are 
treated  by  earnest  men  : 

"  I  cannot  now  enter  into  any  statements  of  the  pos- 
sible uses  of  iron  and  glass,  but  will  give  you  one 
reason  which  I  think  will  weigh  strongly  with  most 
here,  why  it  is  not  likely  that  they  will  ever  become 
important  elements  in  architectural  effect.  I  know 
that  I  am  speaking  to  a  company  of  philosophers,  but 
you  are  not  philosophers  of  the  kind  who  suppose 
that  the  Bible  is  a  superannuated  book ;  neither  are  you 
of  those  who  think  the  Bible  is  dishonored  by  being 
referred  to  for  judgment  in  small  matters;  the  very 
divinity  of  the  book  seems  to  me,  on  the  contrary,  to 
justify  us  in  deferring  everything  to  it,  with  respect  to 
which  any  conclusion  can  be  gathered  from  its  pages. 
Assuming,  then,  that  the  Bible  is  neither  su^Derannuated 
now,  nor  ever  likely  to  be  so,  it  will  follow  that  the 
illustrations  which  the  Bible  employs  are  likely  to  be 
clear  and  intelligible  illustrations  to  the  end  of  time. 
I  do  not  mean  that  everything  spoken  of  in  the  Bible 
histories  must  continue  to  endure  for  ^1  time,  but 
that  the  things  which  the  Bible  uses  for  illustration  of 
eternal  truths  are  likely  to  remain  eternally  intelligi- 
ble illustrations." 

"Now  I  find  that  iron  architecture  is  indeed  spoken 
of  in  the  Bible.  You  know  how  it  is  said  to  Jere- 
miah, ^  Behold  I  have  made  thee  this  day  a  def enced 
city,  and  an  iron  pillar,  and  brazen  walls  against  the 
whole  land.'  But  I  do  not  find  that  iron  building  is 
ever  alluded  to  as  likely  to  become  familiar  to  the 
minds  of  men;  but,  on  the  contrary,  that  an  archi- 


ILLOGICAL  REASONING. 


67 


tecture  of  carved  stone  is  continually  employed  as  a 
source  of  the  most  important  illustrations.  A  simple 
instance  must  occur  to  all  of  you  at  once.  The  force 
of  the  image  of  the  corner-stone,  as  used  throughout 
Scripture,  would  completely  be  lost  if  the  Christian 
and  civilized  world  were  exclusively  to  employ  any 
other  material  than  earth  and  rock  in  their  domestic 
buildings.    I  firmly  believe  that  they  never  will." 

This  would  sound  like  blasphemy  or  drivelling  in 
the  mouths  of  most  persons.  Mr.  Ruskin's  personal 
character  and  peculiar  methods  of  thought  exonerate 
him  from  such  an  accusation. 

Sir  Gilbert  Scott, — a  man  of  an  entirely  different 
type,  cherishing  unbounded  love  for  Gothic  architec- 
ture, to  which  he  devoted  a  long  and  successful 
professional  life — a  man  to  be  counted  among  those 
foremost  in  the  profession  of  his  country,  broad,  lib- 
eral, and  free  from  prejudices,  childlike  and  dispas- 
sionate in  expressing  his  views  and  architectural  faith, — 
in  a  volume  called  "  Remarks  on  Secular  and  Domestic 
Architecture,"  says : 

"  Gothic  architecture  is  in  fact  the  most  free  and 
unfettered  of  all  styles.  .  It  embraces  every  reasonable 
system  of  practical  construction,  though  it  boldly  se- 
lects from  among  them  those  which  are  the  best  and 
most  consistent,  and  places  them  in  the  foremost  ranks 
as  its  choice  and  best-beloved  characteristics." 

"  But,  I  hear  an  objector  ask,  what  will  have  be. 
come  of  your  Gothic  building  when  robbed  of  its 
pointed  arches,  its  mullioned  windows  and  its  high 
roof  ?  Will  it  not  be  like  Hamlet  with  the  character 
of  the  Prince  of  Denmark  dispensed  with  ?  Surely  a 
building  with  lintelled  openings  or  round  arches,  with 


68   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


wide  undivided  windows  and  witli  low  roofs,  can  lay- 
little  claim  to  the  name  of  Gothic ;  and  it  would  be  bet- 
ter at  once  to  be  satisfied  Avith  a  style  in  which  such 
are  the  essential  features  than  to  adopt  anything  so 
effete  as  Gothic  architecture  robbed  of  all  its  leading 
characteristics.  No  such  thing  :  even  if  I  were  advo- 
cating the  omission  of  these  characteristics,  I  believe  a 
better  style  might  be  made  out  of  what  is  left  of 
Gothic  architecture  than  the  dull  insipid  style  of  the 
present  day ;  it  would,  to  say  the  least,  have  the  charm 
of  novelty,  and  anything  would  be  better  than  the 
wretched  routine  of  our  vernacular  architecture.  Far 
be  it  from  me,  however,  to  propose  anything  so  ab- 
surd ;  all  I  advocate  is,  freedom,  unity  of  style,  but 
liberty  in  the  uses  of  it.  I  love  the  pointed  arch,  the 
mullioned  window,  and  the  high-pitched  gable  too 
well  to  wish  to  set  them  aside  in  any  one  instance  in 
which  they  are  suitable,  and  I  hold  that  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten  they  are  by  far  the  best  things  you  can  well 
use.  All  I  wish  to  say  is,  that  if  in  any  one  instance 
they  are  found  to  clash  with  the  requirements  of  a 
building,  there  is  a  principle  of  common-sense  inherent 
in  Gothic  architecture  which  will  at  once  dispense  with 
their  use,  and  that  nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than 
to  imagine  that  if  circumstances  forbid  of  one  or  more 
of  these  features,  we  must  at  once  quit  our  style  and 
adopt  Italian." 

And  so  Sir  Gilbert  loves  architecture,  not  as  a  system 
arising  out  of  a  principle,  but  as  an  aggregation  of  forms; 
and  of  these  forms  he  loves  best  the  pointed  arch,  the 
mullion  and  the  high-gabled  roof.  In  fact  he  has  a 
strong  feeling  that  if  you  take  these  three  forms  away 
from  Gothic  architecture  not  much  of  value  will  remain ; 


ILLOGICAL  REASONING, 


69 


or,  as  lie  states  it  further  on,  "enough  remains,  if  rightly 
used,  to  give  a  true  Gothic  character  to  the  building 
even  in  so  extreme  a  case  as  this,  though  I  should  be 
sorry  to  see  the  experiment  tried,  and  doubt  whether 
its  necessity  is  possible."  • 

Why  should  Sir  Gilbert  be  sorry  to  have  the  experi- 
ment tried,  if  these  features  of  Gothic  architecture  must 
be  omitted  by  reason  of  "objections  to  some  one  or 
more  of  them,"  as  he  says  ?  If  these  objections  are 
not  sound  objections,  why  take  note  of  them  at  all  ? 
Architecture  cannot  be  the  football  of  fools  who  raise 
objections  which  are  unsound.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
these  objections  are  sound,  then  indeed  it  would  not  be 
true  art  to  retain  forms  which  are  really  objectionable, 
and  Gothic  architecture  in  that  case  would  be  the 
gainer  by  discarding  those  forms.  But  the  author 
proceeds,  "  I  have  endeavored  to  show  that  the  rules 
of  the  style  (the  Gothic)  are  not  so  rigid  as  to  demand 
the  use  in  every  case  of  all  its  normal  character- 
istics." 

What  is  the  value  of  rules  that  are  not  rigid  ?  Of 
what  use  is  a  style  that  subjects  itseK  to  these  rules  ? 
The  truth  is,  no  such  rules  exist.  Sir  Gilbert  Scott  is 
confounding  forms  which  he  has  observed  with  rules 
or  laws  which  he  has  failed  to  trace ;  his  convictions 
on  the  subject  of  rules  and  laws  in  general  are  very 
feeble.  For  he  tells  us  elsewhere  (page  31),  "here,  as 
in  all  other  cases,  I  would  say,  be  master  of  your  rules, 
but  never  let  them  be  your  masters ; "  he  says  this  in 
relation  to  the  mullioned  window  as  follows :  "  I  hold 
the  mullioned  window  to  be  the  typical  window  of  the 
style,  to  be,  in  the  abstract,  by  far  the  most  pleasing 
that  can  be  used,  and  I  deny  that  in  general  it  is  open 


70   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


to  any  objection  on  the  ground  of  practical  convenience. 
I  therefore  urge  its  use  as  the  prevailing  window  in 
Gothic  buildings." 

So  long  as  we  deal  with  typical  forms  of  style,  which 
means  a  method  of  buildins:  arisino;  out  of  certain  con- 
ditions  which  once  existed,  and  which  exist  no  more, 
and  urge  their  use  on  that  ground  alone,  we  are  not 
pursuing  architecture,  but  are  creating  archaeological 
specimens  worthy  of  a  museum. 

If  we  are  convinced,  with  the  author  of  "  Kemarks," 
etc.,  that  this  typical  form,  as  he  finds  it,  is  in  the 
abstract  the  most  pleasing,  we  should  at  once  sub- 
ject ourselves  to  serious  self-examination  in  order  to 
find  out  wherein  this  pleasure  consists ;  wliether  there 
is  a  good  aesthetic  reason  for  it,  and  whether  we  may 
adopt  it  and  urge  it  upon  others,  or  whether  we  must 
attempt  other  forms  which  are  less  pleasing,  because 
they  are  as  yet  aesthetically  inchoate,  and  need  labo- 
rious working  out. 

If  we  found  this  effort  fruitless,  not  through  lack 
of  ability  but  because  a  princij^le  of  art  must  neces- 
sarily be  violated  by  omitting  the  mullion,  we  should 
continue  the  use  of  it  in  spite  of  any  objection,  and 
we  should  answer  objectors  by  stating  the  principle 
involved. 

Again,  on  the  subject  of  roofs,  we  are  told,  "  The 
way  in  which  taste  regulates  the  pitch  of  roofs,  is 
by  suiting  it  to  the  general  feeling  of  the  style.  If 
that  feeling  be  in  favor  of  a  horizontal  tendency  in 
the  general  character,  the  low  pitch  seems  to  suggest 
itself ;  while  if  the  tendency  be  rather  toward  vertical 
lines,  the  high  pitch  takes  the  precedence.  Thus,  as 
the  general  rule,  Grecian  architectui'e  delights  in  the 


ILLOGICAL  REASONING. 


71 


low,  spreading  pediment,  and  pointed  architecture  in 
tlie  lofty,  aspiring  gable." 

Supposing  mediae  \^al  architects  had  acted  upon  fan- 
ciful suggestions  of  this  kind  instead  of  sound  reason- 
ing upon  the  subject  of  roofs,  we  should  never  have 
had  steep  roofs  at  all,  no  matter  what  their  neces- 
sity technically  or  aesthetically.  Taste  and  feeling  are 
the  will-o'-the-wisp  of  the  modern  architect.  They  do 
not  lead  to  an  elevated  standpoint.  Let  us  inquire 
into  the  condition  of  art  to  which  they  do  lead. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

STYLES  AND  FASHIONS. 

The  professional  education  of  architects  is  detri- 
mental to  architecture ;  they  are  not  taught,  in  the  first 
place,  that  a  monument,  like  any  other  work  of  art,  is 
the  expression  of  an  idea  in  matter,  and  that  to  create 
a  monument,  the  first  step  is  to  apprehend  its  idea; 
nor  how  human  needs  are  to  be  met  in  their  structure, 
nor  the  principles  which  develop  forms ;  but  they  are 
ever  referred  to  the  history  of  architecture,  and  taught 
to  dwell  upon  the  forms  which  monuments  have  as- 
sumed at  different  periods. 

These  forms  are  all  accepted  as  perfect  in  themselves, 
and  are  not  critically  examined  in  relation  to  their 
functions.  The  reasons  why  certain  forms  have  resulted 
from  ideas  entertained  at  the  time  in  which  they  were 
called  into  existence,  the  influence  exercised  upon 
architecture  by  climate,  religion,  social  condition,  and 
theoretical  knowledge  of  construction,  are  not  subjects 
especially  dwelt  upon  in  histories  of  architecture.  It 
is  supposed  that  the  student  has  acquired  this  knowl- 
edge elsewhere,  or  that  it  is  not  essential  to  architecture 
that  this  knowledge  should  be  imparted  to  him.  Ar- 
chitectural history  is  mainly  an  index  of  styles  and  of 
the  leading  examples  illustrating  them;  a  precise  defi- 
nition of  the  epochs  in  which  these  styles  flourished, 
72 


STYLES  AND  FASHIONS. 


73 


of  the  countries  in  which  they  originated,  and  of  those 
in  which  they  reached  their  final  development. 

In  the  polytechnic  schools  of  continental  Europe  the 
theory  of  building  includes  the  whole  range  of  mathe- 
matics, and  their  application  to  statical  mechanics, 
which  is  all  that  is  needed  in  the  practical  construction 
of  monuments,  as  far  as  the  attainment  of  stability  is 
concerned,  provided  the  pupil  pursues  architectural 
construction  in  the  scientific  manner  indicated  in  these 
branches  of  study,  which,  however,  is  but  rarely  the 
case.  The  young  architect,  instead,  adopts  the  practice 
of  the  ofiice  in  which  he  is  placed,  and  but  rarely  resorts 
to  original  investigation. 

The  relation  of  mechanical  science  to  the  aesthetic 
development  of  structural  forms,  however,  is  nowhere 
thought  of,  and  is  not  taught  in  any  school. 

The  student  of  architecture  in  England  and  Amer- 
ica, does  not  often  enjoy  a  mathematical  training  of 
any  kind;  he  acquires  his  mechanical  and  artistic 
knowledge  entirely  through  a  short  apprenticeship 
in  the  ofiice  of  some  practicing  architect,  coupled 
with  a  desultory  reading  of  art  history. 

The  prevalent  practice  of  professional  men  also  is 
not  conducive  to  original  thought  in  construction,  for 
the  reason  that  their  work  is  pursued  in  certain  grooves, 
and  pertains  usually  to  structures  of  one  and  the  same 
class,  the  detail  of  the  construction  of  which,  good  or 
bad,  is  accepted  as  established.  Hence  it  is  that  the 
pupil  never  learns  to  know  the  need  of  personal  inves- 
tigation in  mechanics,  and  hence  mathematical  knowl- 
edge is  thought  to  be  of  no  special  use  in  architecture. 

If  he  ever  had  a  mathematical  training,  there  is  now 
no  necessity  for  it ;  he  permits  himself  to  become 


74  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


rusty,  and  is  finally  incapable  of  reverting  to  what  lie 
once  knew. 

This  state  of  things  in  England  is  more  especially 
aggravated  by  the  employment  of  so-called  architec- 
tural surveyors,  whose  business  it  is  to  make  out  bills 
of  quantities,  and  to  survey  completed  work ;  and  also  of 
special  assistants,  who  devote  themselves  to  the  matter 
of  construction  alone.  Thus  the  work  of  the  architect 
becomes  entirely  decorative,  and  in  the  pursuit  of  this 
decorative  work  he  is  wholly  guided  by  the  so-called 
rules  which  govern  style. 

The  current  admonition  addressed  to  the  student  is 
to  observe  and  study  the  forms  of  each  separate  style, 
and  to  use  these  forms,  and  no  others,  when  he  works 
in  this  special  style.  He  may  omit  some  of  them,  but 
must  not  add  to  any  style  new  forms  which  do  not 
clearly  belong  to  it,  nor  mix  the  forms  of  different 
types.  That  certain  forms  belong  to  a  style  is  estab- 
lished upon  historical  and  archaeological  grounds,  and 
must  be  illustrated  by  undoubted  authority  of  past 
practice,  to  be  recognized  as  sound  architecture. 

The  result  of  this  system  of  education  is,  that  the 
student  acquires  no  knowledge  of  architecture  as  a 
creative  art,  but  as  an  aii;  already  determined  for  him. 
Of  this  art  he  knows  results  in  the  shape  of  forms 
attained,  but  not  the  causes  of  these  forms  nor  the 
methods  of  reasoning  and  the  motives  which  actuated 
their  authors.  As  history  relates  to  a  long  series  of 
architectural  efforts,  based  upon  a  variety  of  ideas 
expressed  with  progressive  ability  and  cumulative 
knowledge,  the  final  results  of  each  salient  period  are 
not  only  different  in  character  but  antagonistic  in  ex- 
pression.   It  is  true  that  all  this  is  the  result  of  the 


STYLES  AND  FASHIONS. 


16 


unvarying  principle  of  art  creation,  based  upon  uner- 
ring laws  of  nature  perfectly  consistent  witli  progres- 
sive changes  ;  but  as  these  laws  are  not  considered  by 
the  architect,  he  soon  finds  himself  a  blind  partisan  of 
some  special  style  or  type  of  architecture,  and  prac- 
tically an  opponent  of  all  others.  To  this  must  be 
added  the  fact  that  the  student  of  architecture,  who 
enters  upon  his  studies  with  youthful  ardor,  is  apt  to 
regard  the  forms  and  styles  fii'st  presented  to  him  in 
history  with  exclusive  affection,  and  by  the  time  he 
has  mastered  these  forms  he  has  become  a  faithful  be- 
liever in  their  efficacy,  and  rejects  subsequent  styles 
and  methods  as  useless,  not  pleasing,  and  unworthy 
of  attention.  Hence  it  is  that  the  majority  of  architec- 
tural students  who  begin  to  study  history  never  go 
beyond  the  first  few  chapters,  wherein  they  learn  that 
at  some  remote  period  of  time  men  lived  in  caves,  and 
then  in  tents,  and  finally  in  wooden  houses,  and  that, 
having  thus  supplied  their  wants  while  living,  they 
built  pyramids  and  tombs  to  supply  their  wants  when 
dead;  and,  finally,  that  they  erected  temples  to  the 
gods — Egyptian  temples,  Greek  temples,  and  Eoman 
temples.  By  this  time  the  young  student  is  in  pos- 
session of  quite  an  architectural  vocabulary,  and  of 
forms  enough  to  set  up  a  respectable  antique  busi- 
ness, and  to  talk  volubly  of  intercolumniations,  archi- 
traves, proportions,  fiutings,  orders  of  architecture, 
the  acanthus  leaf,  and  the  great  art  period  of  antiquity. 

It  is  felt  to  be  desirable,  of  course,  to  know  some- 
thing of  mediaeval  architecture,  which  is  accepted  to  be 
barbarous,  being  an  art  product  of  the  Dark  Ages,  and 
also  of  the  revival  of  antique  art,  which  brings  us  down 
to  the  present  day.    The  revival  is  not  difficult  to  mas- 


76    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


ter;  its  elements  are  contained  in  Greek  and  Roman 
work ;  the  mediaeval  work  need  not  be  mastered  if  one 
will" only  join  the  great  chorus  of  Renaissance  archi- 
tects who  are  doing  the  business  of  the  world.  Hence, 
many  join  the  chorus,  but  a  few  proceed  further ;  they 
enter  the  intricacies  of  the  Romanesque  and  Gothic, 
examine  the  Moorish,  and  are  not  indifferent  to  the 
productions  of  the  rest  of  the  world. 

However,  the  great  majority  of  students  of  archi- 
tecture come  to  the  conclusion  that  architecture  as  an 
art  is  now  dead,  that  it  has  existed  heretofore  in  various 
forms  called  styles,  that  these  styles  were  in  them- 
selves each  a  perfect  system  of  architecture,  that  all 
we  need  to  do  now  is  either  to  devote  ourselves  to  one 
of  these  styles  or  to  another,  or  perhaps  to  two  for 
special  uses  in  different  kinds  of  structures,  and  to  build 
in  those  styles.  Each  style  has  its  forms,  its  mouldings, 
its  decoration.  Do  not  let  us  mix  them,  but  use  them 
discreetly,  as  we  take  them  fi^om  the  pigeon-holes  of 
time  and  place  them  upon  the  exterior  or  interior  of 
our  buildings  of  to-day.  Now  and  then  we  are  star- 
tled by  a  refractory  railroad  station,  which  evidently 
resists  being  cramped  into  the  style  jacket ;  or  a  ware- 
house, or  a  factory,  or  a  modern  church,  or  a  parlia- 
ment house :  what  we  do  in  cases  of  this  kind,  is  to 
clothe  some  of  these  structures  in  the  mediaeval  armor 
or  the  rohe  de  cliamhre  of  the  Renaissance,  and  to 
pronounce  others  incapable  of  architectural  treatment. 
These  latter  buildings,  thus  liberated  from  the  thral- 
dom of  modern  architectural  art,  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  engineer,  who  constructs  in  a  rational  manner  with- 
out  attempting  art,  and  the  result  is  a  very  healthy 
sort  of  art  production,  of  low  degree  to  be  sure,  but 


STYLES  AND  FASHIONS. 


77 


of  decided  merit.  See  Paxton's  exMbition  building 
and  some  modern  railroad  structures. 

This  state  of  things  has  no  existence  outside  the  so- 
called  European  civilization  which  pervades  Europe 
and  its  colonies,  and  had  no  existence  in  Europe  prior 
to  the  Renaissance  period.  Nor  does  it  exist  anyv^here 
in  any  other  art  or  in  science.  All  these  are  progres- 
sive everywhere,  with  varying  results  during  special 
periods  of  time,  but  progressive  upon  the  whole. 
Dress,  European  dress,  may  be  cited  as  the  only  paral- 
lel case,  with  the  exception  that  European  dress  never 
resorts  to  antique  or  mediaeval  forms,  excepting  so  far 
as  to  adopt  isolated  features  of  these  forms  in  a  modi- 
fied way,  but  revolves  erratically  among  the  styles 
of  the  last  three  centuries,  and  frequently  changes 
directly  to  periods  far  apart  in  time,  and  often  antago- 
nistic in  system  and  expression. 

A  striking  difference  between  the  dress  system  and 
architecture  is  this :  that  the  authors  of  the  architec- 
tural art  at  all  times  hold  that  the  forms  used  by  them 
are  intrinsically  beautiful.  The  tyrants  of  fashion  do 
not  claim  the  element  of  beauty  to  be  a  necessity ;  on 
the  contrary,  they  admit  that  none  of  their  forms  are, 
in  the  abstract,  beautiful,  but  attempt  to  please  by  sud- 
den and  frequent  changes  from  form  to  form,  with  such 
rapidity  that  the  majority  of  mankind,  who  are  kept 
in  a  state  of  constant  excitement  by  novelty,  over- 
whelm the  few  thinking  minds  who  revolt  against 
fashion  as  it  is,  and  thus  prevent  a  change  in  the  right 
direction. 

The  architect  often  meets  with  problems  wherein 
the  ideas  tend  to  the  development  of  forms  which 
do  not  correspond  with  the  forms  of  his  favorite  style, 


78  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


or  perhaps  with  the  forms  of  any  style.  In  this  case, 
the  architect  adheres  to  the  forms,  and  condemns  the 
ideas.  The  artist  in  dress  is  bolder  and  more  con- 
sistent— he  remodels  the  human  form  to  suit  the  fash- 
ion. In  one  respect  they  both  proceed  upon  the  same 
principle.  They  change  their  style  to  please  the  pub- 
lic— with  this  difference,  that  the  architect  changes 
when  he  finds  the  public  indifferent  to  his  work,  or 
when  he  himself  begins  to  doubt  its  efficacy,  while 
the  artist  in  fashions  changes  his  forms  periodically, 
and  thus  assumes  the  lead  of  public  opinion.  They 
agree  in  this,  however,  that  they  are  the  judges  of 
the  forms  to  be  selected,  that  these  forms  are  to  be 
judged  as  a  whole,  and  are  not  to  be  analyzed  in  de- 
tail; that  the  detail  is  of  no  especial  import,  and 
that  the  whole  needs  to  have  no  relation  to  the  pur- 
pose it  is  to  serve;  and  also  that  the  public  is  to  be 
pleased  with  the  work,  and  that  this  is  the  sole  test 
of  art  success. 

If  a  pointed  boot  is  to  be  the  fashion,  men's  feet 
must  be  compressed  into  it  and  become  beautiful 
thereby;  if  the  Tudor  style  prevails,  then  churches 
and  school-houses  must  have  battlements  in  spite  of 
their  peaceful  import.  The  woman  of  fashion  wears 
buttons,  where  a  button  is  of  no  earthly  use,  and 
hence  has  no  meaning.  The  modern  chapel  has  but- 
tresses where  there  is  no  lateral  pressure.  Modern 
pantaloons  convert  the  human  leg  into  a  candle-mould. 
Bold  gabled  fronts  hide  flat  roofs  which  do  not  shed 
the  water;  and  gargoyles  are  placed  where  no  water 
runs. 

The  modem  architect  is  not  trained  to  examine  the 
value  of  architecture  in  the  abstract — what  it  is,  what 


STYLES  AND  FASHIONS 


79 


it  means,  or  wliat  we  sliould  endeavor  to  make  it; 
lie  tries  to  find  out  what  it  was,  not  in  principle,  but 
in  form,  and  is  content  if  the  form  please  him.  He 
Judges  of  the  forms  as  they  .please  him  more  or  less ; 
he  says  St.  Peter's  is  grand,  Cologne  is  better;  or,  per- 
haps,  Cologne  is  feeble,  and  St.  Paul's  is  perfect, 
because  he  feels  it  to  be  so.  The  reasons  why  a 
person  feels  one  work  of  art  to  be  better  than  another 
are  of  the  most  heterogeneous  character ;  generally  he 
has  been  told  to  feel  so  when  young.  The  students  of 
the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts  felt  that  Eenaissance  archi- 
tecture was  true  art,  and  they  mobbed  VioUet  le  Due 
because  he  doubted  it. 

More  often  one  feels  that  to  be  the  best  which  he  can 
understand  best, — he  prefers  the  "Kake's  Progress" 
to  "  Raphael's  Transfiguration,"  or  he  dislikes  what  ex- 
presses ideas  which  have  not  his  sympathy,  as  Ruskin 
hates  the  Renaissance.  Plato  despises  all  art,  because 
to  his  mind  it  is  useless;  the  modern  architect  has 
a  contempt  for  construction,  although  it  is  indispensa- 
ble to  building,  while  art  to  his  mind  only  represents 
that  which  is  unnecessary. 

All  agree  that  the  greatest  crime  in  architecture  is 
to  mix  features  belonging  to  different  styles.  All  art, 
to  be  sure,  depends  upon  unity  of  treatment ;  but  the 
architect  ignores  unity  excepting  as  the  work  of  a 
special  period  of  the  past.  If  works  of  the  past  con- 
tain heterogeneous  forms,  unmeaning  forms,  or  even 
forms  belonging  to  periods  far  apart  in  point  of  time, 
it  is  perfectly  legitimate  to  reproduce  these  mixtures 
whether  they  are  harmonious  in  themselves  or  not, 
but  what  we  do  to-day  must  be  sanctioned  by  time. 
If  it  be,  right  or  wrong,  we  may  do  it  again. 


80    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


Tlie  argument  of  the  Eenaissance  will  illustrate 
the  fallacy  of  this  proceeding.  Mediaeval  architecture 
expressed  a  peculiar  form  of  Christianity  and  social 
organization,  which  placed  a  large  majority  of  the 
people  at  the  mercy  of  a  rude  and  greedy  clergy 
and  aristocracy.  The  material  condition  of  the  peo- 
ple was  brought  to  the  lowest  ebb;  and  the  rulers, 
not  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  nobles  and  the  clergy, 
sided  with  the  people  against  them.  During  this 
triangular  fight  the  revival  of  classic  literature  dis- 
played pictures  of  Greek  liberty,  \drtue  and  hero- 
ism, which  on  the  then  prevailing  background  of  rude 
force,  oppression  and  personal  greed,  stood  out  in  bold 
relief  and  disgusted  thinking  minds  with  the  prevail- 
ing political,  religious  and  social  conditions  and  their 
art  forms. 

This  disgust  finally  terminated  in  the  upheaval  of  the 
Reformation.  But  long  before  its  outbreak  as  a  spir- 
itual controversy,  the  art  forms  of  the  period  had 
fallen  into  disrepute  with  poetical  and  thinking  minds. 

These  cathedrals  and  castles,"  they  said,  "represent  a 
state  of  things  so  repugnant  to  our  feelings  that  we 
will  have  none  of  them.  We  must  return  to  Greek 
and  Roman  forms."  An  aesthetic  examination  of  the 
subject  would  have  revealed  the  fact  that  an  architec- 
ture capable  of  expressing  any  idea  with  force  sufficient 
to  make  us  hate  it  because  we  hate  the  idea,  must  con- 
tain elements  efficient  to  express  other  ideas  equally 
well.  But  no  one  examined  philosophically :  to  Greek 
and  Roman  forms  they  returned,  to  find  before  long 
that  further  development  was  needed  to  adapt  these  to 
the  complicated  ideas  which  had  been  created  by  Chris- 
tianity and  an  advanced  state  of  social  and  political 


STYLES  AND  FASHIONS, 


81 


civilization.  The  intention  no  doubt  existed  to  proceed 
with  this  development,  and  it  still  exists,  but  it  has 
never  been  realized,  for  the  simple  reason  that  every 
change  which  suggested  itself  led  to  forms  similar  to 
those  existing  in  mediaeval  art,  which  forms,  it  was 
held,  must  be  avoided  in  order  to  be  consistent. 

The  cause  of  this  failure  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact 
that  the  architecture  of  the  time  was  not  in  the  hands 
of  architects,  but  in  those  of  gentlemen  of  liberal 
literary  and  artistic  education  indeed,  who,  however, 
knew  nothing  of  the  relations  of  architecture  to  con- 
struction, and  but  little  of  construction  itself,  either  as 
a  science  (for  in  that  form  it  did  not  then  fairly  exist) 
or  as  a  trade,  because  their  apprenticeship  was  served 
with  sculptors,  painters  or  goldsmiths.  Previous  to 
the  Renaissance,  during  the  Middle  Ages,  architects 
were  the  stone-cutters  of  the  times,  a  guild  who,  under 
the  name  of  freemasons,  built  the  cathedrals  of  Europe. 
Endowed  by  the  Pope  with  a  special  charter,  which 
granted  to  them  certain  privileges  in  all  continental 
states,  and  governed  by  their  masters  and  grand-masters, 
under  the  guidance  of  the  clergy,  this  organization 
extended  over  a  great  part  of  Europe,  and  accumulated 
an  amount  of  practical  experience,  alike  in  the  me- 
chanics and  in  the  aesthetics  involved  in  their  work, 
which  at  this  day  commands  the  admiration  of  both  the 
architect  and  the  engineer. 

Under  a  discipline  designed  for  an  association  of 
laymen,  attached  to  this  special  service  of  the  church, 
living  in  encampments  near  their  work,  subject  to  the 
orders  of  their  masters  and  grand-masters,  who  directed 
the  whole  economy  of  their  work  and  living,  this  de- 
voted band  of  men — without  the  positive  knowledge  of 

6 


82  PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


mechanics  whicli  exists  to-day,  and  without  great  per- 
sonal refinement  or  art  education,  but  with  a  devotion 
to  the  work  in  hand,  each  trying  to  do  his  part  well, 
for  the  glory  of  the  church ;  guided  by  men  equally 
devoted,  who  understood  the  value  of  the  art  work  and 
art  expression  at  the  disposal  of  the  church — ^built 
monuments  of  architecture,  which  up  to  this  time  must 
be  admitted  to  be  the  most  godlike  creations  of  man. 

They  learned  mechanics  from  their  own  failures,  and 
architectural  composition  by  continued  attempts,  cor- 
rected by  themselves  and  their  superiors ;  but  every 
point  gained  was  held  fast,  noted  and  embodied  in 
their  rules,  and  faithfully  maintained  until  changed  by 
a  further  advance.  Thus  art  and  construction  went 
hand  in  hand,  until  in  the  •  thirteenth  century  was 
attained  that  perfection  which  to-day  we  are  proud  to 
comprehend,  if  not  able  to  imitate  or  to  apply  to  our 
present  requirements.  The  wars  of  the  Reformation 
and  the  revival  of  antique  art  ih  Italy  reduced  the 
freemasons'  organization  to  a  series  of  disjointed  chap- 
ters, which  continued  to  exist  as  local  guilds  until  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century,  and  traces  of  which 
may  be  found  in  parts  of  Scotland  and  Germany  to 
this  day. 

We  have  since  had  a  revival  of  Gothic  architecture, 
which,  like  that  of  the  Renaissance  and  of  the  antique, 
deals  in  the  adaptation  of  special  art  forms  to  present 
uses.  Its  success  is  for  that  reason  also  without  art 
results. 

It  is  true  that  mediaeval  architecture  contains  at 
least  all  known  methods  of  construction  required  in 
modern  building,  and  an  artistic  treatment  which  may 
be  accepted  as  a  desirable  starting-point  for  fuii:her 


STYLES  AND  FASHIONS, 


83 


progress.  Tliis  fact  is  recognized  by  many  thinking 
minds  among  architects  of  tlie  day,  but  why  this  prog- 
ress has  not  yet  been  essayed  upon  must  be  reserved 
for  a  future  chapter. 

The  division  of  the  schools,  however,  has  confirmed 
their  respective  adherents  in  the  practice  of  styles,  or 
rather  in  dealing  with  the  forms  of  styles.  This 
method  of  building  in  forms,  without  regard  to  the 
principles  which  generate  forms,  has,  in  turn,  stimu- 
lated a  periodical  change  of  style,  and  thus  architec- 
ture has  ceased  to  be  an  art  and  has  become  a  fashion. 

The  popular  love  of  change  is  the  intuitive  desire 
for  improvement  in  all  art  productions.  Man  expects 
progress  in  the  usefulness  of  objects  of  mechanic  art, 
and  progress  in  the  expression  of  ideas  in  objects  of 
fine  art.  This  progress  is  a  healthy  change  which 
should  be  fostered.  The  vacillation  of  fashion  and  the 
constant  change  in  architecture  from  style  to  style  is 
change  without  progress,  and  hence  only  a  counterfeit 
of  an  advance  in  art.  The  popular  architect  has  de- 
scended to  the  place  of  a  broker  in  architecture.  Con- 
struction, decoration  and  sculpture  are  removed  out- 
side  of  his  professional  sphere,  and  he  only  retains  an 
advisory  power  in  the  appointment  of  others  to  do 
this  work  for  him,  while  he  himself  wields  the  baton 
by  which  he  gives  the  sign  from  time  to  time  for  a 
change  of  style,  or  the  advent  of  a  new  fashion. 

This  state  of  architecture  has  led  to  peculiar  rela- 
tions between  the  architect  and  his  clients,  which 
deserve  a  passing  notice  to  illustrate  popular  views  of 
the  art 


CHAPTER  VII. 


AECHITECTUEE  AKD  ITS  PATKOKS. 

We  pursue  art,  Ruskin  says,  with  the  curtain  up 
and  an  audience  before  it,  while  the  great  work  of  the 
Middle  Ages  .was  done  for  the  love  of  God.  It  is 
subversive  of  true  art,  this  attempt  of  pleasing  an 
indiscriminate  audience.  Art  can  be  successful  only 
when  pursued  for  its  own  sake.  Much  poor  and 
indifferent  art  has  been  fostered  in  this  way  in  pop- 
ular paintings  and  trashy  literature. 

All  art  finally  seeks  appreciation  and  a  market  with 
an  audience ;  but  it  is  successful  as  art  only  in  the 
ratio  inversely  proportional  to  its  dependence  upon 
immediate  popular  approval.  Architectural  art  is  espe- 
cially unfortunate  in  this  respect ;  it  submits  to  popu- 
lar interference  while  in  the  process  of  creation. 

Wagner  says  music  is  capable  of,  and  must  be 
wrought  up  to,  greater  flexibility  and  a  neai^er  accord 
with  the  thoughts  it  is  intended  to  express.  The 
compositions  of  the  past  assume  too  much  the  form  of 
geometrical  crystallization  to  express  human  passions 
and  emotions.  I  can  create  a  new  music,  and  I  will 
do  so;  but  where,  it  is  asked,  will  you  find  an 
audience  to  listen  to  such  music  ?  Your  music  will 
remain  forever  a  manuscript  unknown.  Be  it  so,  says 
Wagner,  I  must  write  what  I  know,  and  in  the  man- 
84 


ARCHITECTURE  AND  ITS  PATRONS.  85 


ner  in  whicli  I  know  it,  whetlier  I  tave  an  audience 
or  not. 

Offenbacli  thoroughly  knew  the  depraved  tenden- 
cies of  the  multitude,  and  was  willing  to  set  them  to 
music.  When  his  score  was  complete  he  raised  the 
curtain  and  electrified  his  audience.  Will  this  sort  of 
art  secure  him  *  a  place  in  the  Walhalla  ?  No !  nor 
in  the  hearts  of  the  very  men  who  applaud  him ;  but 
he  knew  this  well  enough,  and  was  content  to  tickle 
the  public  fancy  for  the  moment  and  die  forever. 

The  modern  architect  goes  further  than  this;  he 
puts  his  thoughts  upon  paper,  and  before  he  executes 
them  he  submits  them  to  laymen  for  approval. 

There  is  no  art  or  trade — ^there  never  was  one  in 
this  world  outside  of  modern  architecture — which  is 
found  to  be  willing  to  court  popular  criticism  and  to 
abide  by  its  decision  before  its  works  are  executed. 

The  architect  submits  to  laymen  a  design  of  what 
he  intends  to  do,  and  thereby  admits,  what  is  utterly 
false,  that  laymen  are  competent  to  compare  a  series 
of  such  designs,  and  select  the  best,  or  that  they  can 
form  a  correct  judgment  of  any  one  of  them. 

To  understand  the  enormity  of  this  error,  it  must 
be  remembered  that  the  critical  intelligence  required 
to  judge  an  architectural  design  involves  far  greater 
erudition  and  a  more  comprehensive  knowledge  of  the 
subject  in  general  and  in  its  detail  than  to  prepare 
such  a  design. 

There  are  many  architects,  who,  having  earnestly 
thought  upon  the  subject,  can  compose  a  measurably 
successful  design,  just  as  a  person  of  sensibility  for 
music  may  invent  a  ditty  'sufficiently  spirited  and 
sound  in  its  combination  to  serve  as  the  motive  for  a 


86   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


musical  composition  in  the  hands  of  a  master.  It  is 
not  unjust  to  assert,  on  the  other  hand,  that  but  few 
architects  are  capable  of  analyzing  an  architectural 
design,  and  those  who  are  will  need  a  larger  allow- 
ance of  time  than  is  generally  consumed  by  an  average 
committee  of  laymen  who  imagine  that  they  do  this 
work. 

An  architectural  design  is  a  conventional  geometri- 
cal representation  of  an  imagined  object,  the  merits  of 
which  laymen  attempt  to  determine  by  looking  at  this 
conventional  drawing.  It  is  true  the  architect  is  sup- 
posed to  assist  the  process  by  furnishing  a  perspective 
view;  but  here  the  layman  is  more  at  sea  than  ever. 
He  is  pleased  with  the  technical  skill  and  the  artistic 
feeling  which  are  displayed  in  the  production  of  this 
picture.  He  admires  the  picture,  and  imagines  the 
architecture  it  represents  to  be  good ;  or  he  is  dis- 
pleased or  left  indifferent  by  the  picture,  and  condemns 
the  architecture. 

The  great  injury  done  to  architectural  art,  however, 
by  this  system  of  submitting  architectural  designs  to 
the  judgment  of  la3nnen  is  far  greater  than  would  at 
first  appear. 

To  correct  an  error  one  must  have  either  the  au- 
thority to  do  so,  or  the  skill  to  prove  it  to  be  an  error. 

The  latter  process  demands  a  certain  intellectual 
preparation  on  the  paii;  of  the  erring  party,  and  the 
ability  to  argue  the  case  on  the  pai*t  of  the  party  ad- 
ministering the  correction.  Had  the  architect  the  au- 
thority to  correct  his  client  in  the  same  sense  in  which 
it  is  conceded  to  the  lawyer,  the  doctor,  the  sliij)- 
wright,  or  even  the  tailor  or  shoemaker,  he  would  be 
employed  by  reason  of  the  merit  of  his  finished 


ARCHITECTURE  AND  ITS  PATRONS. 


87 


works,  and  would  not  be  asked  to  submit  a  design 
for  approval. 

It  is  true  he  is  granted  a  polite  hearing  on  all  ques- 
tions relating  to  his  work,  but  is  time  accorded  to  him 
to  educate  his  client  to  the  degree  necessary  to  compre- 
hend his  arguments?  Is  he  himself  master  of  the 
theory  of  his  art,  and  trained  to  debate  these  ques- 
tions ?  Can  he,  if  personally  able  to  do  so,  impart  to 
a  client  in  a  reasonable  series  of  conversations  what  can 
be  acquired  only  by  a  long  professional  education  and 
practice  ? 

There  is  nothing  left  for  him  but  to  raise  the  curtain 
before  the  scene  is  set  and  the  footlights  lighted;  he 
begins  to  recite  and  to  yield  immediately  to  half 
a  dozen  suggestions,  not  from  competent  stage  man- 
ager or  the  author,  but  from  an  audience  which  should 
not  have  been  admitted  until  everything  was  ready  to 
entertain  it. 

As  long  as  this  system  is  pursued,  architecture  must 
range  with  the  fashions  and  not  with  the  arts,  and  so 
it  does  in  fact. 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

MATERIALISM  IN  THE  CHUECH. 

It  is  not  intended  in  this  place  to  speak  of  materialism 
as  the  promise  and  potency  of  the  ultimate  atom,  but 
as  that  human  vulgarity  and  greed  which  places  the 
gratification  of  self,  of  personal  needs  and  comforts, 
above  all  other  considerations.  This  materialism  is 
the  offspring  of  the  wide-spread  "  little  learning  "  of 
the  present  age,  of  a  general  education  which,  because 
it  is  so  shallow,  fosters  conceit,  prejudice  and  obstinacy, 
but  not  Avisdom.  This  modern  intelligence  is  skin 
deep,  and  is  no  respecter  of  better-informed  j)ersons. 
It  has  a  profound  contempt  for  the  past,  its  experience 
'  and  its  poetry.  It  boasts  of  being  eminently  practical, 
and  is  bent  upon  saving  space  and  money  whenever 
opportunity  offers. 

A  dining-room,  to  the  modern  practical  man,  is  a 
place  to  feed  in,  not  a  place  to  enjoy  intelligent  social 
intercourse  during  dinner.  The  question  is,  how  many 
square  feet  does  a  man  require  to  sit  at  the  table,  and  how 
much  space  for  the  servant  behind  his  chair  ?  Tliese 
statistical  items  (and  the  modern  practical  man  is  great 
on  statistics)  determine  the  size  of  his  dining-room  and 
also  its  form.  A  drawing-room  is  a  storehouse  for  the 
standard  set  of  parlor  furniture,  with  just  room  enough 
for  its  probable  occupants  to  brush  by  each  other. 
88 


MATERIALISM  IN  THE  CHURCH.  89 


Any  room  is  a  well-fitting  box  to  hold,  certain  persons 
and  objects,  and  no  more.  The  practical  man  has  no 
need  of  dignified  repose  in  the  arrangement  of  a  group  of 
persons  assembled  for  any  special  purpose,  not  even 
for  the  worship  of  God.  Every  inch  of  available  floor- 
ing space  in  a  church  must  be  covered  with  pews,  and 
no  room  wasted,  as  he  says,  for  other  purposes.  If,  by 
any  contrivance  of  modern  engineering,  a  roof  can  span 
a  large  space  and  be  built  cheaply  of  thin  material,  he 
glories  in  such  a  scientific  triumph  over  space  and 
matter,  and  insists  upon  introducing  it  in  a  monument 
erected  to  the  glory  of  God. 

It  is  hard  to  make  such  a  being  understand  that  a 
difference  exists  between  the  mushroom  and  the  oak, 
between  the  beanstalk  and  the  palm,  and  that  no  art 
work  is  possible  unless  we  show  our  appreciation  of  its 
dignity  to  this  extent,  at  least,  that  we  are  not  willing 
to  trifle  with  it  in  any  sense,  and  that  we  feel  impelled, 
not  merely  to  construct  a  huge  umbrella  for  the  pro- 
tection of  a  fashionable  congregation,  but  to  build  a 
monument  for  all  time  illustrating  the  greatness  of 
God,  in  which  a  human  congregation  is  an  incident,  in 
which  our  presence  is  a  privilege  and  not  a  right,  in 
which  we  are  humble  guests  and  not  owners,  in  which, 
for  a  time,  at  least,  we  realize  a  power  beyond  and 
above  us,  and  an  utter  dependence  upon  that  power. 
No  amount  of  decoration  will  be  a  sufficient  apology 
for  the  broad  falsehood  proclaimed  by  such  an  act  of 
selfishness  and  conceit,  and  such  a  denial  of  our  depend- 
ence upon  God  and  Nature.  If  this  is  the  house  of 
God,  and  we  are  only  guests  and  petitioners  therein, 
we  cannot  arrogate  to  our  use  the  whole  space  contained 
in  it.    The  remainder,  not  devoted  to  any  purpose, 


90   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


will  at  least  indicate  the  fact  that  it  is  reserved 
from  ourselves,  and  that  is  in  itseK  expressive  of  an 
idea.  All  religious  systems  which  have  existed  here- 
tofore have  surrounded  worship  with  impressive  cere- 
monies, which  convey  to  man's  mind  religious  ideas  as 
developed  in  human  emotions  and  human  acts.  These 
acts  may  be  simple  and  insignificant  in  themselves, 
akin  to  humble  acts  of  every-day  life,  but  distinguished 
from  them  by  reason  of  their  import,  in  the  manner  in 
which  they  are  performed.  "  Do  this  in  remembrance 
of  Me,"  Christ  said ;  and  the  breaking  of  bread  and  the 
drinking  of  wine  have  become  the  principal  and  lead- 
ing religious  ceremony  of  the  church.  As  a  naked 
fact,  we  simply  eat  and  drink.  By  what  process  is 
this  humble,  human  act  converted  into  a  religious 
function,  conveying  an  exalted  idea  in  its  performance  ? 
What  is  there  in  this  act  that  produces  emotions  not 
known  to  be  connected  with  the  mere  process  of  eating 
and  drinking  elsewhere  or  otherwise  ?  It  is  the  gi'oup- 
ing  of  the  communicants  in  relation  to  the  priest,  the 
congregation  and  the  church ;  their  posture,  and  the  acts 
and  postures  of  those  surrounding  them.  All  tljiese 
express  an  act  of  devotion.  The  grouping  is  a  picture 
conveying  an  idea.  The  idea  conveyed  by  this  picture 
produces  the  emotions.  Modern  Protestantism,  in  its 
extreme  form,  administers  the  communion  by  passing 
the  elements  round  to  the  communicants  seated  in  their 
pews.  The  infelicity  of  this  arrangement  must  be 
ap]3arent  to  every  well-balanced  mind.  The  perform- 
ance of  the  act  should  always — but  it  does  not  in  this 
case — coiTespond  with  the  idea  to  be  conveyed.  To 
partake  of  the  communion  is  a  privilege  which  is  sought 
for,  and  not  one  that  is  brought  to  us  while  we  are 


MATERIALISM  IN  THE  CHURCH.  91 


leisurely  awaiting  it.  Ultra-Protestantism  is  content 
with  rejecting  in  tMs  and  other  similar  instances  every 
picturesque  form  representing  an  idea,  while  the  idea 
itseK  is  tenaciously  retained;  no  effort  being  made  to  • 
substitute  other  forms  equally  expressive  or  any  forms 
whatever  that  express  it.  This  is  done  under  the  im- 
pression that  all  forms,  all  ceremonies,  in  fact,  all  art 
expressions  of  religious  ideas  are  unnecessary  in  the 
process  of  making  man  religious.  Whether  this  is  true 
or  not,  need  not  be  discussed  here ;  but  it  must  be 
understood  that  the  moment  a  picturesque  expression 
of  religious  ideas  is  abandoned,  we  also  abandon  the 
structure  which  contains  and  accommodates  these  pic- 
turesque groups.  AVe  abandon  the  church  as  a  place 
of  worship,  and  sink  down  to  the  lecture-room  or  the 
theatre,  where  a  literary  performance  is  most  conve- 
niently accommodated,  and  nothing  else  is  expected. 
We  substitute  a  shop  for  a  library,  a  barrack  for  a 
dwelling,  a  bar-room  for  a  dining-room,  a  stable-yard 
for  a  garden. 

Is  it  the  intention  of  intelligent  churchmen  that  this 
should  be  so  ?  No ;  certainly  not.  None  of  them  are 
willing  to  give  up  entirely  the  idea  that  the  church  is 
a  house  of  worship,  a  house  of  God,  and  that  a  certain 
degree  of  orderly  arrangement  and  devout  grouping  in 
churches  is  necessary.  Why  is  it,  then,  that  this  mate- 
rialism has  crept  into  the  church  and  has  now  posses- 
sion of  it?  The  examination  of  this  question  may 
lead  to  sound  results,  and  is  reserved  for  its  proper 
place  hereafter. 

The  human  body,  physically  considered,  is  a  most 
marvellous  mechanical  apparatus,  capable  of  perform- 
ing mechanical  work.    The  distinguishing  characteris- 


92   PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


tic  of  man,  considered  from  the  stand-point  of  aii,  is 
tlie  expression  or  index  of  Ms  mind.  Mental  vigor 
and  mental  qualities,  moral  strength  and  weakness, 
•  mental  peculiarities,  virtues  and  vices,  are  the  subjects 
to  be  expressed  by  art.  To  make  a  sectional  drawing 
of  a  human  figure,  representing  all  the  working  appara- 
tus— the  skeleton,  muscles,  veins,  nerves,  skin,  etc. — is 
not  a  work  of  fine  art.  Fine  art  involves  the  expression 
of  an  emotion.  A  structure,  whether  its  purpose  be 
avowedly  ideal,  like  that  of  a  house  of  worship,  a  place 
for  the  administration  of  justice  (a  court),  or  a  parlia- 
ment house  (where  human  laws  are  enacted),  or  whether 
it  serves  for  mere  personal  use,  like  the  dwelling  of  an 
humble  citizen,  cannot  be  considered  simply  as  so  much 
shelter  from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather;  but  it  must 
be  considered  also  as  an  abode  of  human  beings,  with 
souls  capable  of  moral  reflection,  minds  stored  with 
memories  of  family  and  social  life,  hearts  capable  of 
impressions,  sentiments,  affections,  duties  and  feelings, 
comprising  more  or  less  the  large  range  of  poetry  per- 
taining to  human  life.  The  humble  dwelling,  there- 
fore, like  the  church,  the  court,  the  parliament  house, 
or  the  palace,  while  it  performs  physical  functions,  also 
represents  a  certain  amount  of  thought,  sentiment  and 
ideas,  which  must  be  expressed  in  its  form  that  it  may 
become  a  work  of  art.  In  other  words :  every  struc- 
ture, like  the  human  body,  that  assumes  to  be  a  work 
of  art,  must  also  be  possessed  of  a  soul.  The  relation 
between  that  body  and  its  soul  is  intimate.  What 
the  nature  of  that  relation  is,  will  be  treated  of  here- 
after. 

This  practical  age  believes  in  food,  clothing  and  shel- 
ter ;  and  in  money  to  buy  more  food,  clothyig  and  shel- 


MATERIALISM  IN  THE  CHURCH,  93 


ter ;  but  not  in  tlionglit,  not  in  ideas,  not  in  emotions, 
nor  in  tlieir  artistic  representations,  nor  in  their  results : 
in  trutli,  it  knows  them  not.  Men  have  heard  some- 
where, and  they  are  not  prepared  to  deny,  that  a  vast 
amount  of  human  thought  is  accumulating  through  the 
course  of  time.  It  is  popularly  believed  to  be  stowed 
away  in  books  only,  and  in  the  minds  of  those  who 
read  books.  But  men  know  not  that  thought  lives  in 
every  created  thing,  and  more  especially  in  the  work  of 
human  hands  known  as  art  work — ^the  greatest  of  all 
work,  inasmuch  as  it  recreates  ideals  that  are  good,  true 
and  wise,  besides  exposing  what  is  false,  foolish,  vicious 
and  ridiculous;  inasmuch  as  it  teaches  men  whether 
they  desire  to  learn  or  not,  teaching  the  most  ignorant 
as  well  as  the  wise;  appealing  to  the  emotions  which 
are  capable  of  comprehending,  in  a  manner  confused,  to 
be  sure,  but  with  certainty,  while  the  mind  is  often  un- 
prepared to  comprehend  at  all.  It  would  be  a  bless- 
ing, perhaps,  to  take  all  this  away  from  them  for  a 
time,  and  see  what  will  be  their  condition  at  the  end 
of  that  time  in  a  material  direction ;  how  their  stock 
of  food,  clothing  and  shelter,  and  the  worshipped 
money  would  compare  with  that  which  they  are  now 
permitted  to  possess. 

The  modern  practical  man  thinks  himself  wonder- 
fully wise  :  he  believes  in  the  potency  of  money,  and  has 
faith  in  nothing  else ;  yet  he  does  not  act  quite  up  to 
his  profession  :  he  needs  a  house,  and  with  all  his  boast- 
ed contempt  for  birth,  position,  learning,  and  knowl- 
edge of  art,  he  is  not  content  with  a  mere  shelter, 
even  a  good,  well-built  shelter,  which  would  make  him 
a  respectable  abode,  as  far  as  a  fitting  dwelling-place 
can  do  that :  he  would  like  a  castle ;  but  knowing  that 


94    PRESENT  CONDITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


a  castle  would  make  Mm  ridiculous,  he  compromises 
on  a  villa  and  sends  for  his  architect.  "  I  want  a  villa," 
he  says,  "a  nice  modern  villa,  with  all  the  conveniences 
and  appurtenances  of  modern  villas.    I  do  not  want 

to  spend  a  mint  of  money  like  Mr.  ,  or  Mr.  , 

or  Lord  .    I  do  not  want  a  library  as  large  as  a 

meeting-house,  nor  a  dining- hall  or  di'awing-room 
bigger  than  I  need ;  nor  do  I  approve  of  so  much 
cut-stone ;  it  is  so  very  gloomy,  reminding  me  of  the 
keeps  and  dungeons  of  the  Dark  Ages.  Above  all 
things,  protect  me  from  stained  glass,  steep  roofs,  or 
any  other  Gothic  abomination.  Let  the  building  be 
light  and  airy,  and  trim  and  pretty  to  look  at.  I 
fancy  that  an  Italian  villa  would  be  the  thing,  and  as 
I  have  seen  them  in  Italy,  where  the  villa  is  a  native 
production,  it  is  a  structure  that  may  be  plastered 
inside  and  out,  and  painted  in  imitation  of  stone.  I 
hate  the  look  of  chimneys,  and  what  I  especially 
desire  is  to  have  the  roof  concealed  by  a  parapet  or 
balustrade.  Remember,  above  all  things,  that  it  is 
cheaper  to  insure  a  building  than  to  build  it  fireproof, 
and  that  no  one  can  see  the  difference  when  the 
.building  is  completed."  Thus  speaks  the  proprietor 
of  the  future  villa,  with  the  conviction  that  his 
instructions  are  to  the  point,  and  conclusive ;  but  the 
architect,  who  may  have  a  conscience,  though  mate- 
rially dulled  by  the  building  of  many  villas  of  this 
description,  ventures  upon  the  modest  remark  that  no 
aesthetic  advantage  is  to  be  gained  by  the  use  of  in- 
ferior materials,  nor  by  the  substitution  of  one 
material  for  another ;  but,  being  brought  up  with  a 
sharp  turn  by  his  patron,  who  condemns  all  such 
theories  as  sentimental  and  unworthy  of  a  practical 


MATERIALISM  IN  THE  CHURCH.  95 


age,  and  who  says  that  these  things  are  frequently 
done  by  eminent  architects  whom  he  might  name,  the 
architect  winds  up  his  argument  in  a  conciliatory 
strain  somewhat  as  follows :  "  I  am  very  much  of  your 
opinion,  for  forms  beautiful  in  themselves  cannot  be 
condemned  on  account  of  the  material  they  are  wrought 
in,  nor  the  use  they  are  put  to.  St.  Peter's  at  Rome 
would  continue  just  as  beautiful  if  it  were  converted 
into  a  riding-school,  and  a  fac-simile  of  Westminster 
Abbey  in  cast  iron  must,  by  a  parity  of  reasoning, 
make  an  equally  good  cathedral.  There  is  much  spe- 
cious talk  of  expression  and  character  in  a  structure ; 
but  Mr.  Fergusson  says  distinctly  that  a  building  tells 
no  story,  nor  is  it  directly  the  cause  of  an  emotion." 
So  the  architect  takes  leave  of  his  client  with  a  sub- 
missive smile,  and  proceeds  to  design  his  villa,  and  he 
builds  it.  When  it  is  done,  one  cannot  help  but 
think  that  neither  the  owner  nor  his  architect  under- 
stood the  nature  of  a  house  occupied  by  a  gentleman, 
but  that  it  is  impossible  for  man  to  do  anything  in 
the  direction  of  art  without  giving  some  sort  of  ex- 
pression to  it,  whether  he  intends  to  do  so  or  not ;  and 
that  this  villa  somehow  declares,  in  the  strongest 
terms,  as  if  written  upon  it  in  large  letters,  "  This  is 
the  house  a  snob  built." 


P^RT  II. 


NATUEE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IS  AET  NECESSAEY? 

Befoee  engaging  in  a  discussion  on  the  nature  of 
art,  on  beauty  and  tlie  emotions,  it  is  desirable  to  con- 
sider whetlier  or  not  art  performs  a  function  wliicli 
affects  the  well-being  of  man.  A  majority  of  writers  on 
aesthetics  affirm  that  in  every  work  of  art  it  is  a  con- 
dition precedent  that  it  shall  not  be  necessary.  This 
involves  another  question.  What  is  and  what  is  not 
necessary  to  man  ?  And  furthermore,  admitting  the 
beautiful  to  relate  to  ideas,  to  emanations  of  the  mind, 
are  these  essential  or  not  ?  Some  have  questioned,  with 
a  certain  degree  of  plausibility,  the  absolute  necessity 
of  raiment  and  shelter.  There  is  no  doubt  that,  in 
some  climates,  men  live  on  a  moderate  supply  of  food 
and  atmospheric  air  alone.  A  limited  number  of  human 
beings  do  so  in  a  few  favored  spots  of  the  earth  with- 
out work,  without  thought,  without  reflection,  without 
instruction.  Prompted  by  hunger,  they  arise  to  eat 
and  lie  down  again,  or  wander  about,  as  seems  to  them 
most  desirable.  The  moment,  however,  that  this  limited 
number  of  human  beings  increases,  and  can  be  no  longer 
supplied  by  the  spontaneous  growths  of  nature,  they 
must  resort  to  agriculture,  and  also  to  emigration  to 
countries  where  the  climate  is  more  rigorous.  Shelter 
and  clothing  become  equal  necessities  with  food ;  and 
99 


100       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


manufactures  of  agricultural  implements,  tlie  erection 
of  granaries,  trade  and  its  attendant  appliances,  create 
property.  Hence,  various  methods  of  protecting  tliat 
property — social  interests  arise,  and  combinations  for 
the  protection  of  these  interests,  by  means  of  laws 
growing  out  of  thought  and  moral  reflection.  Laws 
have  to  be  maintained  by  physical  force  ;  hence,  indi- 
vidual devotion  to  the  public  good,  amounting  to 
heroism,  a  disregard  of  life^  or  the  voluntary  sacrifice 
of  it,  for  the  maintenance  of  moral  truths.  The  human 
frame  is  subject  to  injury  from  excesses  in  the  gratifica- 
tion of  the  appetites  as  well  as  from  over-exertion  and 
exposure.  Nature  suggests  remedies  to  alleviate  or  re- 
move suffering.arising  from  these  sources;  hence,  to  sus- 
tain life  man  inquires  into  the  laws  of  Nature  and 
her  productions.  A  moderate  amount  of  reflection  on 
the  problem  of  our  being,  shows  us  our  utter  depend- 
ence on  each  other,  and  especially  on  the  sustaining 
powers  of  nature ;  hence,  everything  connected  with 
her  laws  and  productions  becomes  matter  of  profound 
study. 

Individual  thought  and  inquiry  into  nature,  which 
includes  man  himself,  has  so  accumulated  through  his- 
toric times  as  to  form  a  cosmic  intellisfence,  the  most 
valuable  of  human  acquisitions.  So  intimately  is  this 
asssociated  with  man's  individual  existence,  and  also 
with  his  moral,  political,  social  and  religious  relation- 
ships, that  it  is  impossible  to  estimate  the  depriva- 
tion to  humanity,  should  any  portion  of  this  cosmic 
thought  be  lost  to  us.  But  few  of  us  are  able  to 
add  materially  to  this  stock  of  cosmic  thought:  the 
multitude  can  know  but  little  of  it;  many  however 
are  capable  of  being  instructed  by  it ;  and  it  is  nec- 


IS  ART  NECE8SARY9 


101 


essaiy  for  the  maintenance  of  society  tliat  the  num- 
ber of  these  should  be,  at  all  times,  as  large  as 
possible.  All  men  know  the  necessity  of  supplying 
physical  wants.  They  know  that  they  must  eat,  be 
clothed,  and  sheltered  from  the  weather.  They  also 
understand  that  in  order  to  procure  these  necessities 
it  is  imperative  that  they  should  render  some  service 
to  society — that  they  must  labor.  Hunger,  exposure, 
and  other  physical  suffering,  which  are  immediate 
results  of  a  lack  of  these  supplies,  promptly  remind 
them  of  this  condition  of  things.  But  effect  and  cause 
do  not  follow  each  other  in  all  relations  of  social  life 
as  promptly  as  hunger  does  the  want  of  food.  Systems 
of  government  and  of  law,  of  morality,  of  religion  and 
social  relations  are  the  foundations  upon  which  rests 
our  social  fabric  ;  and  upon  these  systems  depends  indi- 
vidual prosperity  and  happiness. 

These  systems,  however,  are  the  outcome  of  the  in- 
telligence of  the  communities  in  which  they  originate, 
and  mainly  the  result  of  the  teachings  of  individuals. 
There  are  men  who  love  and  pursue  knowledge  for  its 
own  sake,  who  inquire  into  the  phenomena  of  nature 
for  the  truths  they  reveal ;  others  who  study  nature's 
laws  for  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  this  knowledge 
by  their  fellow  men,  and  others  again  who  study 
these  laws  in  order  to  find  fitting  answers  to  the 
questions  man  puts  to  nature  relating  to  the  source 
of  his  being — the  conditions  which  govern  human  life 
here  and  hereafter.  The  methods  pursued  in  com- 
municating knowledge,  again,  differ  with  the  nature 
of  the  men  who  teach,  and  the  intellectual  develop- 
ment of  the  persons  who  are  taught.  Great  and 
fervent  natures — overwhelmed  with  the  magnitude  of 


102 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


their  conceptions,  realizing  in  tliem  the  laws  of  the 
di\dne  mind,  and  aware  of  their  potent  influence  on  the 
fate  of  man — experience  an  irrepressible  desire  to  com- 
municate their  mental  treasures  to  the  world,  and  have 
promulgated  these  laws  as  the  dii'ect  revelations  of  the 
Deity,  which  in  a  certain  sense  they  knew  them  to  be. 
Overwhelming  emotions  seem  to  them  an  inspiration, 
and  it  is  not  surprising  that  they  believe  them  to  be 
so.  This  method  of  instructing  mankind,  and  direct- 
ing it  in  the  path  of  virtue,  akin  to  the  transcendent 
splendor  and  rapidity  of  the  meteor,  is,  like  the  meteor, 
a  rare  occurrence  on  the  intellectual  horizon,  and  is 
called  forth  and  made  resplendent  by  a  previous  men- 
tal and  moral  darkness,  which  periodically  occurs  in 
the  history  of  the  world. 

Many  profound  thinkers  earnestly  in  search  of  truth, 
less  bent  on  making  discoveries  than  upon  removing 
doubt  by  demonstration,  content  themselves  with  stat- 
ing results  in  unimpassioned  language.  Their  audience 
is  small,  but  well  prepared  to  receive,  to  hold  and  to 
use  what  is  communicated  to  it.  Others  again,  more 
enthusiastic  and  perhaps  less  profound,  distinguish 
themselves  through  devotion  to  some  special  idea. 
For  their  convictions  they  lay  down  their  lives.  These 
are  the  heroes  and  martyrs  of  the  Avorld. 

Next  we  come  to  those,  who,  impressed  with  the 
merit  of  ideas  advanced  by  themselves  or  other  persons, 
found  in  history,  legends,  or  poetry,  ideas  of  a  moral 
nature,  of  human  relations,  of  love  and  hatred,  of  wis- 
dom and  folly,  of  national,  social,  and  religious  impoii} 
— the  trials  and  triumphs  of  virtue,  the  errors  and 
punishments  of  vice,  the  devotion  and  heroism  of  king, 
citizen  or  slave,  the  adventures  of  the  traveler,  the 


IS  ART  NECESSARYf 


10^ 


functions  and  power  of  the  law,  tlie  lights  and  shades 
of  humble  life,  and  the  splendors  of  courts — present 
these  ideas  in  the  most  expressive  forms,  rendering  them 
through  words,  through  paintings,  through  sculpture, 
and  through  architecture.  Ideas  thus  presented  are 
sown,  like  seeds,  in  the  human  heart,  taking  root  there, 
stimulating  the  brain  and  arousing  reflection,  with- 
holding man  from  evil  and  idle  pursuits,  and  bringing 
him  back  to  nature  and  her  beneficent  influences,  kind- 
ling a  spark  of  the  divine  tendencies,  which  may  not 
be  reached  by  the  force  of  the  law,  nor  by  the  promises 
and  threats  of  religion,  nor  by  the  subtle  arguments 
of  philosophy.  The  men  who  do  this  are  the  artists  of 
the  world. 

The  economy  of  human  labor  and  of  human  as- 
sociation is  guided  by  human  thought,  as  truly  as 
muscular  effort  is  guided  by  the  action  of  the  nervous 
system.  Suspend  mental  influence,  and  muscular  action 
becomes  inert,  or  exhausts  itself  in  useless  effort.  The 
human  body  needs  the  guiding  care  of  a  healthy  brain, 
the  body  politic  the  teachings  of  human  thought. 
Abstract  thought,  conveyed  in  the  language  of  jDhi- 
losophy,  is  understood  by  those  only  who  are  prepared 
for  it  by  a  special  training.  But  nature  and  art  bring 
before  us  pictures  of  life,  imitations  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  in  the  word-paintings  of.  the  poet,  in  music, 
which  speak  of  the  emotions,  and  in  architecture,  which 
embodies  them  in  stone.  Through  these  we  receive 
sensuous  impressions  of  thought  realized  in  action  and 
emotions.  We  can  all  see  and  hear,  and  learn  from 
these, — only  as  much,  indeed,  as  we  are  prepared  to 
receive,  as  we  can  understand  at  the  time ;  but  we  learn 
always.    Human  art,  through  language  and  the  instru- 


104       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


mentalities  of  form  and  order,  is  the  exponent  of  the 
mystery  and  beauty  of  human  life.  An  idea  associ- 
ated with  a  material  object  remains  more  firmly  fixed 
in  the  mind  than  an  idea  presented  to  us  in  its 
abstract  form.  Garrick  is  reported  to  have  said  that 
the  superiority  of  the  impressions  produced  by  the 
stage  over  those  produced  by  the  pulpit  is  owing  to 
the  fact  that  the  actor  recites  falsehood  as  though  it 
were  truth,  while  the  preacher  utters  truth  as  though 
it  were  falsehood.  This  is  not  stating  the  whole  case. 
The  actor  acts  an  ideal  scene  with  the  truthful  accuracy 
of  nature,  and  hence  the  force  of  the  impression  he 
produces ;  while  the  preacher  exhorts  in  the  form  of 
abstract  thought,  and  hence  our  indifference. 

The  salient  points  of  a  good  play  are  remem- 
bered for  life,  and  the  melodies  of  an  opera  haunt  us 
for  days  after  hearing  them;  a  sermon  is  often  for- 
gotten before  we  leave  the  church ;  and  yet  enthusi- 
astic religious  speakers  have  drawn  pictures  of  heaven 
and  hell  in  words  which  have  driven  their  hearers  into 
lunacy. 

What  has  been  said  here  with  regard  to  the  ex- 
pression of  ideas  in  art,  and  its  necessity  to  man,  is 
most  beautifully  and  forcibly  illustrated  in  Lamartine's 
sketch  of  the  life  of  Homer.  He  speaks  first  of  the 
faculty  of  man  of  reproducing  nature  in  art  work  as 
follows : 

"  One  of  the  most  natural  and  universal  faculties  of 
man  is  that  of  reproducing  internally,  by  imagination 
and  thought,  and  externally,  by  ai-t  and  speech,  the 
material  and  moral  universe  in  the  midst  of  which  he 
has  been  placed  by  providence.  Man  is  the  reflecting 
mirror  of  nature :  everything  is  recreated  by  him ;  and 


IS  ART  NECESSARY? 


105 


ttouglit,  poetry,  everything  is  reanimated  and  receives 
\  new  life.  It  is  anotlier  state  of  existence,  wliicli  God 
has  permitted  man  to  make,  by  multiplying  external 
being  in  his  thoughts  and  in  his  words- — an  inferior 
form,  but  not  less  real,  which  truly  creates,  although 
it  only  does  so  from  the  elements,  the  images,  and  rec- 
ollections of  what  nature  has  embodied  before  him. 
An  imitation  like  the  sport  of  a  child,  yet  still  the 
play  of  the  mind  upon  the  impressions  which  it  re- 
ceives from  nature, — a  play  in  which  we  continually 
reiterate  the  fleeting  image  of  the  external  and  in- 
ternal worlds,  which  expands,  passes  away  and  renews 
itself  unceasingly  before  us.  Therefore  does  poetry 
mean  creation." 

And  then  of  the  benefits  of  art  productions  to  man- 
kind. "  And  now  is  poetry  worth  this  sacrifice  ?  What 
influence  had  Homer  upon  civilization,  and  how  did 
he  contribute  to  its  extension  ?  To  answer  this  in- 
quiiy  it  is  sufficient  to  read.  Suppose  in  the  infancy 
or  youth  of  the  world,  that  a  half-savage  man,  endowed 
only  with  the  elementary,  gross,  and  ferocious  instincts 
which  are  the  foundation  of  our  animal  nature,  before 
society,  religion  and  art  have  moulded,  softened,  spirit- 
ualized, and  sanctified  the  human  heart :  suppose  that 
to  such  a  man,  alone  in  the  depths  of  the  forests,  and 
engrossed  by  sensual  appetites,  a  heavenly  spirit  were 
to  teach  the  art  of  reading  characters  traced  upon  pa- 
pyrus, and  then  to  disappear,  leaving  with  him  only 
the  works  of  Homer.  The  savage  reads,  and  as  he  turns 
page  after  page,  a  new  world  opens  before  his  eyes ; 
he  feels  expand  within  him  thousands  of  thoughts, 
ideas,  and  feelings  unknown  before.  A  mere  sensual 
being  when  he  began  to  read,  he  has  become  an  intel- 


106       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


lectual,  and  will  soon  be  a  moral  creature.  Homer 
reveals  to  him,  in  the  first  place,  the  superior  world ; 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  judgment  after  death; 
sovereign  justice ;  the  expiation ;  rewards  according  to 
our  virtues  or  our  crimes;  heaven  and  hell,  disguised 
no  doubt  by  fables  and  allegories,  but  still  visible  and 
apparent  though  these  symbols,  as  the  figure  beneath 
the  drapery,  which  covers  while  it  shows  it.  He  next 
tells  him  of  glory,  that  passion  for  mutual  esteem  and 
eternal  honor,  which  has  been  given  to  men  as  the 
instinct  most  nearly  allied  to  virtue.  He  teaches  him 
patriotism  in  the  exploits  of  the  heroes  who  leave  their 
ancestral  realms,  tearing  themselves  from  their  mves 
and  mothers,  to  shed  their  blood  in  national  expedi- 
tions, like  the  Trojan  war,  to  give  honor  to  their  na- 
tive land.  He  tells  them  of  the  calamities  of  war,  by 
describing  the  burning  of  Troy  and  the  combats  be- 
neath the  walls.  He  teaches  friendship  by  the  exam- 
ple of  Achilles  and  Patroclus ;  wisdom  by  that  of  Men- 
tor ;  conjugal  fidelity  by  Andromache ;  consideration 
for  age  by  the  old  king  Priamus,  to  whom  Achilles 
gives  up  with  tears  the  corpse  of  his  son ;  disgust  for 
outrage  to  the  dead  by  the  body  of  Hector  dragged 
seven  times  around  the  walls  of  his  own  capital ;  com- 
passion for  Astyanax  led  into  slavery  by  the  Greeks 
while  still  a  child  in  his  mother's  arms ;  the  vengeance 
of  the  gods,  in  the  early  death  of  Achilles ;  the  conse- 
quences of  infidelity  in  Helen ;  scorn  for  the  breach  of 
domestic  ties  in  Menelaus ;  the  sacredness  of  laws,  the 
utility  of  trades,  the  invention  and  the  beauty  of  the 
arts  everyAvhere :  in  short,  the  interpretation  of  the 
language  of  nature,  always  pervaded  by  a  moral  sig- 
nificance, revealed  in  each  of  its  phenomena  in  earth, 


IS  ART  NECESSARY? 


107 


sea,  and  sky ;  as  it  were  a  cipher  of  correspondence 
between  God  and  man,  given  so  completely  and  so 
exactly  in  tlie  verses  of  Homer,  tliat  tlie  unseen  and 
tlie  natural  world,  reflected  eacli  in  the  other  like  stars 
in  a  lake,  seem  to  be  but  a  single  thought,  and  to  speak 
with  but  one  harmonious  tongue  to  the  gifted  intelli- 
gence of  the  sightless  poet.  And  yet  this  language  is 
marked  by  such  a  melodious  rhythm  in  its  measure, 
and  is  full  of  such  music  in  its  expression,  that  each 
thought  seems  to  enter  the  mind  through  the  ears,  not 
only  as  an  intelligent  idea,  but  also  as  a  sensuous  de- 
light. Is  it  not  clear  that,  after  a  long  and  familiar 
intercourse  with  this  volume,  the  brutal  and  ferocious 
instincts  would  disappear,  and  a  moral  and  an  intellec- 
tual nature  expand  in  the  savage  to  whom  Homer 
would  have  been  thus  taught  by  heaven  ?  What  such 
a  progress  would  have  done  for  a  single  man.  Homer 
effected  for  an  entire  nation.  Scarcely  had  death  in- 
terrupted his  heavenly  song,  before  the  rhapsodists,  or 
Homeric  bards,  wandering  minstrels — their  ears  and 
memories  still  ringing  with  his  verses — ^passed  from  isle 
to  isle  and  through  all  the  towns  of  Greece,  each 
boasting  the  exclusive  knowledge  of  some  mutilated 
fragment  of  his  poems,  and  reciting  it  year  after  year, 
through  one  generation  after  another,  at  public  festi- 
vals and  religious  solemnities,  in  the  halls  of  the 
palaces  and  by  the  cottage  hearths,  as  well  as  in  the 
school  full  of  children ;  so  that  an  entire  nation  became 
a  living  and  imperishable  repository  of  this  universal 
volume  of  classical  antiquity." 

"  In  the  time  of  Ptolemy  Philopater,  the  Smyrneans 
built  him  temples.  The  Argives  also  paid  him  divine 
honors.    For  two  thousand  years  one  soul  breathed  its 


108       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


spirit  over  this  portion  of  the  world.  In  the  year  884 
B.  c.  Lycurgus  brought  Homer's  verses  to  Sparta,  to 
train  the  minds  of  its  citizens.  Then  came  Solon,  the 
founder  of  the  democracy  of  Athens,  and  who,  a  greater 
statesman  than  Plato,  understood  the  influence  of  gen- 
ius on  civilization,  and  had  these  scattered  fragments 
collected  into  one  book,  as  in  later  days  the  Eomans 
collected  the  sacred  pages  of  the  Sibyl.  Then  came 
Alexander  the  Great,  anxious  above  all  things  for  im- 
mortal renown,  and  well  knowing  that  the  key  of  the 
future  is  in  the  hands  of  the  poets ;  he  had  a  casket  of 
marvelous  richness  made  to  contain  the  songs  of  Homer, 
and  always  put  them  under  his  pillow  that  he  might 
enjoy  heavenly  dreams.  Then  came  the  Romans,  who 
esteemed  none  of  their  conquests  in  Greece  equal  to 
the  possession  of  these  poems ;  and  all  the  poetry  of 
their  nation  was  but  the  lengthened  echo  of  this  voice 
from  the  rocks  of  Chios.  Then  followed  the  darkness 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  of  barbaric  invasion,  which,  for 
nearly  a  thousand  years,  sank  the  West  in  ignorance, 
and  which  was  scarcely  beginning  to  break  before  the 
manuscripts  of  Homer,  undiscovered  among  the  ruins 
of  Paganism,  again  became  the  study  and  the  source  of 
inspiration  and  enthusiasm  to  the  minds  of  men.  Thus 
the  ancient  world,  mth  its  history  and  poetry,  its  arts 
and  trades,  its  civilization,  manners  and  religion,  is  all 
contained  in  Homer ;  and  even  the  literature  of  the 
modern  world  owes  its  existence  in  so  great  a  measure 
to  him,  that  before  this  noblest  of  inspired  writers,  no 
man,  be  he  who  he  may,  could  without  blushing  take 
the  title  of  poet.  To  ask  whether  such  a  man  may  be 
ranked  among  the  benefactors  of  the  human  race  is  to 
ask  whether  genius  sheds  light  or  darkness  over  the 


IS  ART  NECESSARY? 


109 


world ;  it  is  to  renew  tlie  blasphemy  of  Plato ;  it  is  to 
expel  poetry  from  civilization ;  it  is  to  deprive  human- 
ity of  its  most  glorious  attribute,  its  perception  of  the 
infinite ;  it  is  to  fling  back  to  the  Almighty  the  highest 
faculties  with  which  he  has  endowed  us,  lest  jealous 
minds  be  offended,  and  the  material  world  appear  poor 
and  little,  as  compared  with  the  splendors  of  imagina- 
tion and  the  magnificence  of  nature." 


CHAPTER  X. 


MATTER. 

Now  that  we  have  endeavored  to  show  that  ideas 
are  man's  first  necessities^  it  will  be  well  to  inquire 
whether  matter  is  deserving  of  the  contempt  in  which 
it  is  held  by  some  writers  upon  aesthetics.  Hegel,  for 
instance,  classifies  art  by  placing  poetry  in  the  first 
rank  for  being  entirely  disembarrassed  of  matter,  and 
thence  down,  through  music,  painting,  and  sculpture,  to 
architecture,  which,  according  to  him,  is  symbolic,  sen- 
suous and  material  in  excess,  and  which  hence  occupies 
the  lowest  rank  in  art.  It  is  not  intended  to  advance 
here  any  theory  of  classification :  indeed  the  arts  as 
such  cannot  be  ranked  one  above  the  other.  They  are 
all  methods  of  expressing  ideas  through  capacities 
which  can  only  be  measured  when  the  last  earthly 
artist  has  accomplished  his  last  work:  but  we  may 
fairly  object  to  a  classification  which  is  based  upon  the 
amount  of  matter  involved  in  an  art  effort,  or  to  the 
principle  implied,  that  matter  exists  in  any  sense  in 
opposition  to  an  absolute  idea. 

To  compare  music  and  sculpture,  for  instance.  Ac- 
cording to  Hegel,  sculpture  is  only  less  subject  to  mat- 
ter than  architecture  ;  it  stands,  in  that  respect,  below 
painting  and  still  more  below  music,  wherein  all  ele- 
ments of  space  are  suppressed  and  all  is  inner  emotional 
110 


MATTER. 


Ill 


nature  (Gemiitli).  To  speak  in  terms  more  precise,  an 
idea  expressed  in  stone  involves  the  stone  itself  as  a 
part  of  the  art  work ;  while  music  is  mere  sound,  ex- 
pressing the  idea  as  it  were  without  the  presence  of 
matter.  We  see  the  statue  by  reflected  light,  and  vision 
brings  the  reflecting  matter  into  notice.  The  light 
image  alone,  however,  as  produced  upon  the  retina, 
may  be  favorably  compared  with  the  sound  impression 
upon  the  tympanum,  if  we  consider  merely  the  quan- 
tity of  matter  involved  in  producing  sensation.  The 
question  may  be  asked,  is  there  no  matter  involved  in 
a  musical  production  ?  For  instance,  in  Handel's  Mes- 
siah, there  is  haK  a  ton  of  brass  and  string  instruments 
set  in  motion  by  six  tons  of  human  musicians,  accom- 
panied by  thirty  tons  of  vocal  performers,  agitating 
ninety  tons  of  atmospheric  air ;  not  to  speak  of  the 
vibrations  of  the  building  wherein  the  oratorio  is  per- 
formed, and  of  the  audience  itself  listening  to  the  per- 
formance ;  among  which  mass  we  must  also  count  the 
few  grains  of  matter  forming  two  musical  instruments, 
present  in  the  human  ear,  which  musical  instruments, 
if  covered  with  a  drop  of  water,  would  place  us  in  a 
sad  relation  to  this  great  sum  of  inner  emotional  nature 
(Gemiith),  for  the  simple  reason  that  we  would  then 
not  hear  the  slightest  sound  of  it.  True,  the  matter 
involved  in  a  musical  performance  may  be  considered 
as  an  instrument,  and  not  as  a  part  of  the  art-work  it- 
self ;  but  this  applies  also  to  the  matter  contained  in  a 
statue.  This  becomes  merely  an  instrument  which  re- 
flects light,  and  which,  in  forming  a  picture  upon  the 
retina,  conveys  the  idea  of  the  art  effort.  But  we 
must  further  examine  the  true  relation  of  matter  and 
thought  in  music.    The  Messiah  brings  before  the 


112       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


audience  a  chorus,  a  body  of  human  beings,  who  are 
the  actors  in  a  dramatic  performance  representing 
another  similar  ideal  body  of  persons  who  did  at  one 
time  proclaim  to  a  suffering  world  the  advent  of  the 
Redeemer,  his  suffering  and  humiliation,  and  finally 
the  great  triumph  of  -a  completed  redemption.  It  is 
assumed  in  the  first  part,  that  Christ  mil  come ;  in  the 
second  part,  that  he  has  come  and  suffered ;  and  in  the 
third  pai-t,  that  his  suffering  has  terminated  and  his 
triumph  commenced.  These  occurrences  in  their  suc- 
cession have  impressed  certain  persons  who  feel  im- 
pelled to  convey  these  impressions  and  the  resulting 
emotions  to  the  world.  We  find  here  a  series  of  art 
efforts  succeeding  each  other.  In  the  first  place,  the 
poetic  description  of  the  coming  of  Christ,  and  the 
emotions  of  the  chosen  few  who  proclaim  his  coming 
to  the  world,  as  contained  in  the  text;  next,  the  com- 
poser translating  the  emotions  pictui^ed  in  the  text  into 
music ;  and  finally,  the  performers,  who  render  this 
music  to  the  audience.  All  and  each  of  these  art 
efforts,  however,  deal  with  an  ideal  congregation  of 
human  beings  who,  knowing  of  the  coming  of  Christ, 
his  suffering  and  triumph,  convey  to  an  audience  their 
emotions. 

They  are  the  group  of  human  figures  represented 
upon  the  stage ;  and  though  it  is  no  part  of  the  plot  of 
the  composer  that  they  shall  be  seen  by  the  audience, 
it  is  intended  that  they  shall  be  heard  ;  and  they  must 
be  considered  as  the  matter  involved  in  rendering  the 
idea  in  sound.  And  they  are  a  part  of  the  art  represen- 
tation, just  as  much  as  a  certain  quantity  of  stone  is  a 
part  of  a  statue  so  wrought  by  human  hands  as  to  re- 
flect upon  the  retina  a  picture  not  only  of  its  physical 


MATTER. 


113 


form,  but  of  sucli  motion  of  its  form  arrested  at  one 
particular  moment  of  time  as  will  express  the  idea  in- 
tended to  be  conveyed  by  the  artist. 

Matter  in  some  form  is  absolutely  necessary  in 
art,  in  order  to  conceive  a  statue,  a  picture,  or  a  group 
of  persons  represented  in  a  picture.  If  this  group  be 
painted  in  words,  or  if  it  be  represented  as  expressing 
its  emotions  in  sound  (music),  the  group  itself,  in  mate- 
rial form,  is  a  prime  necessity  in  the  scheme,  if  it  is  to 
answer  the  purposes  of  art.  The  mere  statement  that 
the  Son  of  God  was  born,  suffered  and  died  to  redeem 
man,  without  depicting  either  his  emotions  during  the 
act,  or  the  emotions  produced  in  others,  is  not  a  work 
of  art.  In  fact,  it  is  a  condition  of  art  that  the  con- 
ception of  an  idea  shall  be  connected  with  material 
bodies ;  for  all  ideas  of  which  we  are  possessed,  or  of 
which  Ave  can  possibly  acquire  a  knowledge,  or  which 
we  can  imagine,  are  ultimately  connected  with  a  motion 
of  matter. 

Matter  in  the  apparent  condition  of  rest  (for  indeed 
we  know  not  of  matter  in  a  state  of  absolute  rest) — con- 
veys no  ideas ;  its  motion,  however,  suggestive  of  the 
order  of  its  motion,  is  the  only  tangible  foundation  of 
thought.  This  may  be  illustrated  by  the  pebble  we 
despise  as  mere  matter.  Let  us  examine  it  with  the 
microscope  and  find  the  secrets  of  its  crystallization, 
and  we  become  at  once  possessed  of  an  idea  in  relation 
to  it.  We  have  learned  to  know  a  phase  of  motion  to 
which  the  matter  has  been  subjected  at  some  time  in 
the  past.  We  are  constantly  in  the  habit  of  separating 
thought  from  its  base,  which  is  matter ;  yet  it  is  not 
possible  to  conceive  an  idea  without  a  relation  to  known 
matter.  The  mind  is  not  capable  of  conceiving  through 
8 


114 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


tlie  imagination  an  ideal  tliougJit  not  directly  derived 
from  or  communicated  by  matter.  This  is  forcibly 
illustrated  by  various  conceptions  of  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  an  idea  supposed  not  to  be  derived  directly 
from  known  matter.  The  shades  visited  by  Ulysses 
are  represented  as  eating,  drinking,  and  conversing. 
The  Christian  idea  of  immortality  of  the  soul  may  be 
summed  up  in  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  "It  is  sown  a 
natural  body ;  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body."  What  is 
more  remarkable  still  is  the  human  desire  for  immor- 
tality disconnected  from  the  body  or  from  any  matter 
whatever,  in  the  face  of  the  fact,  that  no  natural  law  is 
more  firmly  established  than  the  indestructibility  of 
matter ;  and  of  the  fact  that  one  can  imagine  no  condi- 
tion of  existence  divested  of  matter. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


ESTHETICS. 

In  the  preceding  cliapter,  the  nature  and  function 
of  art  have  been  discussed  purely  as  those  of  a  ma- 
terialized idea,  without  direct  reference  to  beauty  as  a 
quality  of  fine  art  and  of  nature.  This  is  not  the  course 
commonly  pursued  heretofore.  Beauty  alone  has  been 
especially  considered  in  the  philosophy  of  art.  It  is 
assumed  by  most  witers  on  the  subject,  that  the  only 
acceptable  test  of  a  work  of  fine  art  is  whether  it 
possesses  the  quality  known  as  beauty.  This  inquiry 
is  not  deputed  to  reason  but  to  the  emotions;  if,  in 
the  presence  of  a  work  of  art,  the  subject  experiences 
a  pleasurable  emotion,  this  is  proof  positive  that  the 
object  contemplated  is  possessed  of  beauty,  and  the 
art  work  is  of  that  class  which  is  especially  known 
as  one  of  fine  art,  unless  it  be  a  work  of  nature. 

The  difference  between  a  definition  or  demonstra- 
tion and  a  pictorial  representation  of  an  idea  in  mat- 
ter is  not  discussed ;  and  yet  it  seems  that  such  a  dis- 
cussion might  lead  to  a  more  clear  understanding  of 
the  nature  and  function  of  fine  art  than  the  constant 
contemplation  of  the  mere  quality  of  beauty,  and  its 
symptom,  the  pleasurable  emotion.  For  the  better 
understanding  of  the  subject,  however,  it  is  deemed 
best  before  we  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  the 
115 


116       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


idea  in  aii:  (and  more  especially  in  architecture),  to 
devote  this  and  the  following  chapters  on  art,  archi- 
tecture, and  beauty  to  a  brief  rehearsal  of  the  views 
held  upon  this  subject  by  various  eminent  authors. 

When  we  contemplate  works  of  nature  or  of  fine 
art,  we  experience  a  certain  pleasurable  emotion.  The 
science  which  attempts  to  explain  the  nature  and  causes 
of  this  pleasurable  emotion  is  called  aesthetics. 

Its  purpose  is  to  determine  logically  what  special 
quality  or  element  constitutes  a  work  of  art,  with  a 
view  to  guide  the  artist  in  its  production,  and  the  lay- 
man in  a  proper  and  just  appreciation  of  it,  and  also 
to  elicit  the  function  of  art  in  the  social  economy. 

All  writers  upon  aesthetics  agree  that  the  pleasurable 
emotion  in  the  subject  is  the  test  of  its  being  a  work 
of  fine  art,  and  that  the  quality  which  in  fine  art 
produces  pleasurable  emotion  is  its  beauty.  What 
constitutes  beauty  is  not  established  upon  any  one 
comprehensive  principle ;  but  certain  relations  of  the 
work  deemed  beautiful  to  utility,  to  morality,  to  the 
religious  sentiment,  and  even  to  the  Deity  are  asserted, 
doubted,  and  disputed,  and  certain  properties  of  works 
of  art,  such  as  unity,  harmony,  contrast,  symmetry,  mag- 
nitude, association,  relation,  and  proportion,  are  estab- 
lished, and  in  turn  rejected,  as  the  attributes  of  beauty. 

Some  authors  recognize  sculpture  and  painting  as  the 
only  fine  arts ;  others  admit  also  architecture,  poetry, 
music,  dancing,  and  dramatic  acting. 

The  questions  raised  in  philosophical  speculations 
on  the  theory  of  art  are  mainly  these :  What  is  the 
nature  of  the  emotions  produced  by  nature  and  art  ? 
We  find  here  but  few  attempts  to  define  the  qualities 
required  in  the  person  contemplating  a  work  of  art. 


AESTHETICS. 


117 


It  is  assumed,  either  that  the  subject  is  fully  prepared 
to  receive  impressions,  and  to  be  affected  by  them,  or 
that  no  preparation  is  needed  for  that  purpose. 

What  is  the  nature  of  the  beautiful,  the  quality  of 
every  object  capable  of  producing  these  pleasurable 
emotions  ?  Is  it  an  essence  which  pervades  all  objects, 
always  of  the  same  nature,  although  various  in  its  phe- 
nomenal manifestations?  or,  may  the  unity  of  beauty 
'  be  questioned,  and  its  presence  attributed  to  a  number 
of  properties,  which  properties  have  this  in  common, 
that  they  all  produce  pleasurable  emotions? 

A  work  of  art  is  held  to  be  matter  representing  an 
idea;  or,  as  Hegel  has  it,  the  interpenetration  of  matter 
and  thought. 

The  German  school  of  aesthetics  does  not  admit  an 
independent  existence  of  matter,  but  holds  matter  to 
be  the  negative  limiting  principle  in  the  action  of 
self-movement  of  the  absolute,  and  the  beautiful  a 
particular  manifestation  of  supreme  thought,  in  contra- 
distinction to  the  true  and  the  good,  which  are  equally 
manifestatioDs  of  supreme  thought. 

Socrates  held,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  beautiful 
is  coincident  with  the  good,  and  adds  another  quality, 
viz :  That  the  beautiful  serves  a  purpose  for  the  need 
of  man. 

Plato  describes  beauty  as  the  soul's  intuition  of  the 
seK-beautiful,  a  reminiscence  of  prenatal  existence,  un- 
defiled  by  union  with  the  body. 

When  applied  to  beautiful  objects,  he  renders  their 
qualities  as  those  of  proportion,  unity  of  parts ;  and 
then  again  as  force,  velocity  or  smoothness. 

Aristotle  ignores  absolute  beauty ;  he  also  places  the 
beautiful  above  that  which  is  useful  or  necessary. 


118       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


In  tMs  we  see  tlie  beginning  of  a  later  school,  wliicli 
has  many  adherents  at  the  present  day,  who  designate 
the  beautiful  as  a  quality  which  renders  the  object 
possessing  it  unnecessary — a  suicidal  philosophy  which, 
if  true,  must  close  the  argument  forever,  and  make  all 
further  reflection  on  the  subject  useless.  Aristotle 
also  indicates  the  absence  of  lust  in  the  pleasurable 
emotion  resulting  from  the  contemplation  of  art  work 
as  a  leading  characteristic. 

Baumgarten  desribes  the  beautiful  as  the  perfection 
of  sensuous  knowledge,  and  the  ugly  as  that  which 
struggles  against  that  perfection. 

Kant  says  that  art  is  the  pleasure  or  pain  on  the 
presentation  of  an  object,  and  beauty  in  quality  that 
which  pleases  without  interest  in  its  existence,  and  in 
quantity  universal  pleasure.  This  has  been  much  bet- 
ter said  by  Keats,  "  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever." 

Kant  labors  to  reconcile  reason  with  the  idea  that 
beauty  is  in  itself  unnecessary,  by  claiming  for  beauty 
adaptation  (Zweckmaessigkeit),  without  any  end  being 
conceived. 

Hegel  defines  heauty  absolute  as  the  shining  of  the 
idea  through  the  sensuous  medium.  His  classification 
of  art  is  especially  interesting,  inasmuch  as  it  defines 
the  position  of  architecture  in  relation  to  the  sister  arts 
— as  follows : 

1st.  Architecture,  symbolic,  sensuous,  material  in 
excess. 

2d.  Sculpture,  less  subject  to  matter,  higher  ideality. 

3d.  Painting,  the  romantic  art  expresses  the  full 
ideality  of  the  soul. 

4th.  Music,  all  elements  of  space  suppressed,  all  in- 
ner emotional  nature  (Gemiith). 


ESTHETICS, 


119 


5tli.  Poetry,  universal  expression ;  this  tends  to  tlie 
idea  elsewhere  asserted  tliat  matter  is  unworthy,  and 
its  presence  in  art  measurably  objectionable. 

To  establish  a  sound  philosophy  of  art,  the  following 
questions  should  be  definitely  answered.  What  is  the 
nature  of  the  emotion  produced  by  a  work  of  art  or  of 
nature  upon  the  subject  brought  under  its  influence  ? 

That  these  emotions  are  pleasurable  cannot  be  a  suf- 
ficient definition;  for  it  is  well  known  that  there  are 
various  pleasurable  emotions,  the  result  of  experiences 
entirely  disconnected  from  art.  Who  is  capable  of 
emotions  produced  by  works  of  nature  and  art,  or 
what  is  the  mental  quality  concerned  in  the  appreci- 
ation of  a  work  of  art  ? 

Mere  matter  disconnected  from  an  idea  (if  that  is 
possible)  is  not  claimed  to  possess  the  quality  described 
as  beauty  :  hence  the  beautiful  is  to  be  found  either  in 
the  idea  itself,  which  proposition  is  at  least  tacitly  ad- 
mitted, or  in  the  method  of  combination  by  which  the 
idea  is  expressed  in  matter.  The  relation  of  the  subject 
to  the  objective  idea,  and  the  method  of  the  material 
embodiment  of  the  idea,  are  the  possible  elements 
which  are  possessed  of  the  property  called  beauty ;  and 
it  becomes  necessary,  therefore,  that  the  philosophy  of 
art  should  distinctly  define  what  are  the  ideas  capable 
of  being  expressed  by  art  work,  and  how  they  should 
be  presented  to  us  when  embodied  in  matter,  so  as  to 
constitute  this  interpenetration  of  the  ideal  and  real  a 
work  of  art. 

If  the  results  of  an  investigation  as  outlined  here 
should  lead  to  a  clear  understanding  of  the  ugly,  the 
sublime  and  the  ludicrous ;  if  in  its  theory  it  should 
explain  the  nature  of-  the  ideal  in  art  and  the  condi- 


120       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


tions  of  imitation  of  nature  in  art  works,  and  also  show 
the  relation  between  works  of  art  and  the  phenomena 
of  nature,  whereby  both  are  possessed  of  the  property 
of  beauty,  and  produce  a  pleasurable  emotion  in  the 
subject,  it  may  be  assumed  that  such  a  system  is  based 
upon  sound  reasoning. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 


AET. 

Art  relates  to  the  work  of  man  in  contrast  witli  tlie 
works  oi  nature.  The  question  has  been  raised  where 
the  line  skould  be  drawn  between  the  two.  Are  not 
many  works  of  man  indirectly  works  of  nature?  Is 
•  the  building  of  a  human  habitation  to  be  distin- 
guished as  a  mental  or  technical  process  from  the 
building  of  a  bird's  nest  or  a  beaver's  dam ;  or  are  not 
the  bird  and  the  beaver  entitled  to  the  credit  of  pro- 
ducing works  of  art  ?  This  brings  up  another  more 
complicated  question :  What  is  the  difference  between 
reason  and  instinct?  two  terms  for  similar  mental 
processes,  invented  to  express  a  mental  and  physical 
function  respectively  for  man  and  animals,  both  of 
which  tend  to  the  same  end  of  answering  physical 
needs,  and  a  distinction  between  which  is  supported 
only  by  the  feeble  argument,  that  human  art  manifests 
progress,  while  that  of  animals  remains  stationary. 
It  may  be  urged,  indeed,  that  the  honeycomb,  for  in- 
stance, was  probably  perfect  in  the  beginning  of  time, 
and  needed  no  further  improvement,  and  hence  de- 
serves  to  rank  above  similar  human  productions;  or 
that  we  have  not  studied  the  mechanical  operations 
of  the  animal  kingdom  sufficiently  to  assert  that  no 
progress  has  been  made  in  any  of  them.  Then,  again, 
121 


122       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


it  remains  to  be  determined,  whether  moles,  ants,  and 
beavers  ever  deteriorated  at  the  rate  at  which  moderi 
civilization  has  deteriorated  architecture  during  tlie 
last  four  hundred  years.  But  as  we  propose  in  tliis 
place  to  consider  human  art  only,  we  may,  with  profit 
to  our  subject,  abandon  all  these  speculations,  and 
examine  into  the  human  acts  or  efforts  which  lead  to 
art,  and  omit  those  w^hich  do  not. 

1st.  Fortunately  it  has  been  long  established,  and 
the  theory  is  universally  accepted,  that  the  £rst  con- 
dition of  art  work  is  premeditation;  that  all  invol- 
untary human  acts,  like  breathing,  sleeping,  etc.,  and 
those  which  are  prompted  by  nature  for  the  purpose 
of  directly  maintaining  the  human  organism,  like  eat- 
ing and  drinking,  do  not  lead  to  art.  It  is  further 
required  that  art  shall  be  directed  to  the  creation  of  an 
organism  which,  like  the  organic  productions  of  nature, 
performs  a  function;  or  else  that  it  shall  represent 
in  matter  a  natural  organism,  or  an  organism  of  art 
which,  by  its  physical  functions,  betrays  emotion.  In- 
asmuch as  emotions  are  the  result  of  ideas,  we  say 
of  this  branch  of  art  that  it  represents  ideas  in 
matter. 

2d.  It  follows  from  the  foregoing,  that  the  premedi- 
tated transformation  of  matter  or  of  material  relations, 
for  the  purpose  of  creating  objects  which  perform  or 
represent  organic  functions,  demands  certain  intellec- 
tual and  technical  powers.  These  intellectual  -and 
technical  powers  constitute  art. 

3d.  A  work  of  art  may  minister  to  physical  wants 
only,  as,  for  instance,  a  plough,  an  engine,  a  ship,  an 
ail^icle  of  dress  or  furniture.  Such  a  production  is 
called  a  work  of  mechanical  or  industrial  art,  and  the 


ART. 


123 


man  wlio  performs  or  creates  tlds  work  is  called  a 
mechanic  or  artisan. 

4tli.  But  if  by  art  an  idea  is  represented  in  matter, 
we  distinguisli  sucli  a  work  as  one  of  fine  art,  and  call 
tke  person  wko  creates  it  an  artist.  To  understand 
fully  the  nature  of  fine  art,  we  must  define  the  differ- 
ence in  the  method  by  which  ideas  are  conveyed  in 
art  and  science.  Science  demonstrates  the  idea  by 
definition,  analysis,  argument  and  induction,  generali- 
zation and  deduction.  Art  represents  the  idea  as 
manifested  through  human  emotions,  by  depicting  the 
physical  functions  of  these  emotions.  Science  demon- 
strates the  idea  fully,  perfectly,  or  not  at  all.  Fine  art 
may  depict  an  idea,  or  represent  it  in  matter  imper- 
fectly or  partially.  An  idea  is  demonstrated  by  sci- 
ence through  words  or  algebraic  signs,  or  through 
matter  and  its  motion,  and  the  subject  addressed  by 
this  demonstration  will  either  comprehend  it  fully  or 
not  at  all.  A  partial  understanding  of  the  demon- 
stration cannot  lead  to  a  comprehension  of  the  idea  or 
an  approximation  to  it.  An  idea  represented  in  fine 
art  may  be  understood  imperfectly,  and  yet  an  approxi- 
mate notion  of  the  idea  represented  be  conveyed  to  the 
subject;  and,  finally,  an  idea  to  be  scientifically  demon- 
strated must  be  true,  while  an  idea  represented  in 
matter  by  art  may  be  false,  while  the  art  work  repre- 
senting it  may  be  a  true  work  of  fine  art. 

5th.  There  is  outside  of  mechanic  or  industrial  art 
and  of  fine  art  another  branch  of  human  art,  which  has 
not  been  specially  named.  Like  fine  art,  its  object  is 
to  convey  an  idea ;  but  it  differs  from  fine  art  herein, 
that  the  idea  is  not  represented,  but  demonstrated  in 
matter  by  its  works.    It  supplies  a  human  want  as  is 


124       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 


clone  by  mechanic  art ;  but  it  is  a  mental  and  not  a 
physical  want.  It  consists  mainly  in  the  manufacture 
of  scientific  apparatus,  optical,  electric,  and  other  simi- 
lar instruments ;  and  the  persons  who  do  this  work  are 
called  mechanicians. 

6th.  The  methods  of  producing  works  of  fine  art,  or 
of  expressing  ideas  in  matter,  are  called  the  technics  of 
art.  Premeditation  in  fine  art  involves  knowledo:e  of 
the  idea  to  be  expressed,  as  well  as  of  the  resources  of 
technics.  To  paint  something  without  a  definite  in- 
tention ;  to  model  in  stone,  build,  write  music,  dance, 
or  act  without  a  clear  idea  of  what  is  to  be  expressed, 
or  without  previous  knowledge  of  the  respective 
methods  of  representation ;  if  all  this  should  result  in 
the  representation  of  something  not  intended,  although 
it  convey  an  idea,  then  such  work  is  not  fine  art. 
To  draw  the  outline  of  a  human  figure,  to  paint  it, 
or  cut  it  in  stone,  to  describe  it  vdth  words,  without 
expressing  a  mental  characteristic  of  the  person  so 
depicted,  is  not  fine  art.  It  may  be  a  correct  physical 
representation ;  but,  as  it  conveys  only  form  and  not 
idea,  it  is  not  a  work  of  fine  art.  To  prepare  a  geo- 
metrical drawing  or  a  pers^Dective  view  of  an  existing 
structure,  or  to  prepare  a  perspective  view  of  a  con- 
templated structure  from  a  series  of  geometrical  draw- 
ings ;  all  this  is  not  fine  art.  To  prepare  drawings  of 
an  intended  structure  which,  when  executed,  will  ex- 
press the  idea  which  made  this  structure  necessary,  is 
to  create  a  work  of  fine  art,  although  the  dramngs 
themselves  are  works  of  mechanic  art  only. 

7th.  In  every  work  of  fine  art  it  is  assumed  that 
some  person  or  persons  have,  under  the  influence  of 
an  idea,  become  subject  to  emotions,  which  emotions 


ART, 


125 


are  depicted  in  matter  by  fine  art.  Emotions  are  ac- 
companied by  visible  modifications  of  the  human  form, 
wliicli  may  be  termed  tlie  physical  functions  of  an 
emotion.  These  are  capable  of  being  represented  in 
matter  by  fine  art,  and  this  is  the  method  by  which 
fine  art  represents  an  idea  in  matter.  An  abstract 
idea  cannot  be  represented  in  matter.  For  instance, 
we  cannot  produce  a  picture,  a  statue,  a  poem,  a  sym- 
phony or  a  monument  which  shall  represent  Religion, 
Patriotism,  Friendship,  Love,  or  Heroism.  The  impos- 
sibility is  inherent  in  the  nature  of  the  idea,  which 
is  a  perceived  relation  of  matter,  and  must  be  em- 
bodied before  it  can  be  conceived  as  a  subject  of 
art.  It  becomes  necessary  in  fine  art,  therefore,  that 
the  idea  shall  be  expressed  in  an  organism;  that  is, 
that  some  one  shall  do  something  of  himself  or  suffer 
something  by  the  act  of  others,  or  shall  be  in  some 
tangible  relation  to  a  material  act,  and  that  this  phy- 
sical demonstration  shall  express  an  idea.  It  is  not 
necessary  that  this  act  or  demonstration  should  be 
directly  represented  by  the  work  of  art ;  indeed  the 
art  work  may  relate  to  acts  performed  by  others  than 
those  whom  it  depicts ;  it  may  relate  to  past  or  future 
acts.  But  it  is  necessary  that  some  demonstration  of 
the  idea  in  material  action  should  be  fixed  upon  and 
defined  in  order  to  elicit  the  nature  of  the  emotions 
which  are  ultimately  depicted.  This  process  of  ma- 
terializing an  idea,  forms  a  very  important  part  in  art, 
and  will  be  referred  to  hereafter  frequently  under  the 
simple  designation  of  the  act  illustrating  the  idea,  or 
as  the  act. 

8th.  Emotions  find  expression  in  physical  conditions 
and  modifications  of  form.  Fine  art  depicts  these  modi- 


126       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


fications  of  pliysical  form,  and  tlius  represents  an  Idea 
in  matter.  Inanimate  matter  is  capable  of  changes, 
which,  by  the  interest  which  they  excite  in  man,  create 
emotions  relating  indirectly  to  ideas.  When  such  in- 
animate matter  is  depicted,  it  becomes  a  work  of  fine 
art.  Tims  a  landscape,  expressing  growth  or  decay, 
the  effects  of  sunlight,  motion  of  any  kind  which  re- 
lates to  organic  development  or  change,  when  repre- 
sented in  a  painting,  or  depicted  in  poetry,  becomes  the 
subject  of  fine  art.  Baer  and  Madler's  maps  of  the 
moon,  which  represent  matter  at  rest  without  organic 
development,  are  not  works  of  fine  art. 

How  a  structure  betrays  emotions,  and  becomes  a 
work  of  fine  art,  vnll  be  more  especially  discussed  in  a 
subsequent  chapter. 

9th.  All  ideas  are  derived  from  a  sensuous  perception 
of  matter,  its  motion  and  relation. 

10th.  Organized  matter,  as  we  find  it  in  nature,  per- 
forms functions  pertaining  to  the  continuance  of  its 
atomic,  molecular  and  organic  relation.  These  func- 
tions are  expressed  in  the  forms  of  these  organisms, 
and  this  expression  becomes  a  source  of  knowledge. 
The  re-creations  of  art  also  express  the  nature  of  func- 
tions, and  this  also  becomes  a  source  of  knowledge  to 
those  who  contemplate  them. 

11th.  Kiiowledge  derived  from  works  of  nature  and 
of  fine  art  presents  itself  directly  to  our  senses  mthout 
solicitation  on  our  part.  We  see  and  hear,  but  do  not 
examine,  study  or  analyze ;  and  we  perceive  the  repre- 
sentation in  matter  of  an  emotion  resulting  from  an 
idea  to  the  extent  only  to  which  our  powers  of  percep- 
tion are  prepared  for  it  by  previous  education.  We  are 
never  aware  that  anything  more  is  needed  on  our  part 


ART, 


127 


to  enable  us  to  derive  from  the  contemplation  of  an 
art  work  a  more  perfect  impression ;  for  the  impression, 
as  we  realize  it,  seems  final  and  complete. 

12tli.  The  intellectual  power  necessary  to  conceive 
a  scheme  of  representing  an  idea  in  matter,  and  the 
technical  skill  required  to  execute  such  a  scheme  are 
visible  in  works  of  art  more  or  less  to  every  observer; 
and  this  intellectual  effort  to  convey  an  idea,  together 
with  the  technical  skill  to  represent  it  in  matter,  con- 
stitute creative  force.  It  is  the  creative  force  by  means 
of  which  an  idea  is  conveyed  in  matter,  and  our  per- 
ception of  this  creative  force  is  the  source  of  the 
pleasurable  emotion  of  the  observer. 

13th.  The  perceived  magnitude  of  the  creative  force 
constitutes  what  is  generally  tenned  the  heauty  of  the 
art  work.  To  the  subject  observing  a  work  of  fine 
art,  his  appreciation  of  this  magnitude  of  creative  force 
is  his  judgment  of  the  degree  of  its  beauty. 

The  elements  constituting  creative  force  are  the 
magnitude  and  force  of  the  idea  and  of  the  act  selected 
to  illustrate  it,  and  the  technical  ability  displayed  in 
expressing  the  resulting  emotion. 

14th.  The  pleasurable  emotion  experienced  immedi- 
ately upon  a  sensuous  perception  of  a  work  of  nature 
or  fine  art,  is  popularly  supposed  to  be  the  result  of 
cognition,  by  reason  of  a  so-called  internal  sense,  known 
as  taste. 

15th.  Any  person  in  the  possession  of  his  senses, 
whose  brain  and  nervous  system  are  in  a  normal  con- 
dition, is  known  to  experience  a  pleasurable  emotion, 
a  species  of  agreeable  surprise,  on  perceiving  an  idea 
represented  in  matter. 

The  re-creation  of  human,  animal,  or  other  created 


128       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 

forms,  of  musical  sounds,  joyous  or  plaintive,  tlie  poetic 
description  of  natural  scenes  and  of  human  emotions, 
must  move  any  person  who  can  see  and  hear  to  this 
extent,  at  least,  that  he  is  surprised  by  the  creative 
force  displayed  in  the  production  of  the  phenomena 
before  him. 

The  exact  nature  of  the  pleasurable  emotion  ex- 
perienced in  the  contemplation  of  works  of  nature  or 
of  fine  art  may  be  described  as  follows :  Natural  organ- 
isms, animal  and  vegetable,  are  alive  ^^dth  growth  or 
motion ;  they  visibly  express  the  functions  performed 
by  them.  The  very  existence  of  these  organisms  be- 
trays a  profound  mental  power,  which  we  admire  and 
venerate.  This  admiration  of  creative  force  in  natural 
organisms  is  the  pleasurable  emotion  experienced  in 
contemplating  them.  When  human  emotions  are  ex- 
pressed by  art  on  canvas,  in  stone,  in  words  of  poetry, 
in  music,  or  in  architecture,  the  surprise  at  the  possi- 
bility that  a  mental  condition  can  be  expressed  in 
matter,  awakens  an  admiration  for  the  art  force  dis- 
played, similar  to  the  admiration  caused  by  the  contem- 
plation of  nature's  organisms ;  and  this  admiration  in 
all  cases  constitutes  the  essence  of  the  pleasurable  emo- 
tion caused  by  art. 

Are  these  emotions  the  result  of  an  internal  sense 
called  taste  ?  To  answer  this  question,  we  must  first 
inquire  whether  or  not  objects  or  phenomena  which 
are  not  works  of  nature  and  fine  art  do  or  do  not  pro- 
duce similar  emotions ;  and  next,  whether  the  emotions 
are  proportionate  in  quantity  and  quality  to  the  merit 
of  the  art  work  perceived. 

Let  us  admit,  at  the  outset,  that  the  pleasurable 
emotions  here  considered  are  not  to  be  confounded 


ART. 


129 


with  certain  other  pleasurable  emotions  which  are 
purely  the  result  of  the  gratification  of  a  physical  ap- 
petite. They  certainly  differ  from  these  in  character. 
This  difference  has  been  expressed  by  designating  the 
pleasurable  emotions  aroused  by  works  of  nature  and 
art  as  disinterested.  But  the  inquiry  needs  still  to  be 
answered;  are  there  not  mental  interests  other  than 
those  involved  in  ideas  represented  in  works  of  nature 
and  fine  art,  which  are  capable  of  producing  pleasur- 
able emotions  akin  to  those  produced  by  works  of 
fine  art  ?  And  here  we  find  that  the  contemplation  of 
a  work  of  mechanic  art — of  an  engine,  a  theodolite,  a 
telescope,  the  solution  of  a  riddle,  the  demonstration 
of  a  mathematical  problem,  the  explanation  of  physical 
laws ;  in  fact,  every  demonstration  which  displays  the 
exercise  of  mental  power — also  produces  precisely  the 
same  pleasurable  emotion  in  kind  as  is  produced  by 
the  contemplation  of  works  of  nature  or  of  fine  art. 

The  display  of  skill  is  alone  sufficient  to  produce 
the  pleasurable  emotion;  for  instance,  a  performance 
on  horseback  or  on  the  tight-rope,  of  archery  or 
games  of  skill,  or  even  a  mere  display  of  physical 
strength,  as  exhibited  in  racing  or  lifting  of  weights. 
We  must  come  to  the  conclusion,  therefore,  that  the 
pleasurable  emotion  experienced  in  the  presence  of  a 
work  of  nature  or  fine  art,  is  nothing  more  than  the 
admiration  of  the  creative  ability  displayed ;  and  that 
a  similar  emotion  is  caused  by  the  display  of  any 
mental,  technical,  or  physical  capability  in  any  phe- 
nomenon the  result  of  a  premeditated  human  act. 

16th.  It  has  been  observed  that  the  demonstration 
of  an  idea  affects  with  a  pleasurable  emotion  only 
those  persons  who,  by  education  and  training,  are  made 


130 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 


capable  of  understanding  this  demonstration ;  while  all 
persons,  whether  educated  or  not,  are  capable  of  a 
pleasurable  emotion  in  the  presence  of  a  work  of  na- 
ture or  fine  art :  and  it  has  been  concluded  from  this 
that  the  latter,  therefore,  is  the  result  of  a  natural 
faculty  implanted  in  all  men.  Is  this  tme  ?  Most 
persons  can  tell  the  time  without  consulting  a  time- 
piece ;  that  is,  within  certain  limits,  say  mthin  an  hour 
or  two.  Is  this  a  natural  gift  ?  No ;  because,  in  the 
first  place,  they  never  know  the  exact  time ;  they  are 
simply  satisfied  with  what  they  do  know ;  and,  in  the 
next  place,  the  little  they  do  know  of  the  time  is  due 
to  education.  They  have  noticed,  perhaps,  the  posi- 
tion of  the  sun,  not  by  measuring  it  on  the  horizon, 
but  by  the  general  aspect  of  light  and  shadow  upon 
surrounding  objects.  They  will  assure  you,  however, 
that  they  tell  the  time  of  the  day  by  intuition,  and  they 
doubtless  believe  so.  A  crucial  test  would  be  to  place 
such  a  person  under  the  influence  of  a  narcotic,  and 
examine  what  he  will  know  of  time  when  he  wakes  in 
a  dark  room  after  a  long  sleep. 

Intuitive  taste,  or  natural  taste,  presents  a  parallel 
case.  The  subject  sees  in  every  work  of  fine  art  some 
degree  of  creative  force,  and  is  pleasurably  moved  in 
consequence.  But,  inasmuch  as  the  amount  of  creative 
force  discerned  bears  no  relation  whatever  to  the  in- 
trinsic creative  force  of  the  art  work,  the  value  of  the 
sensuous  perception  amounts  to  this  only,  that  the  sub- 
ject is  capable  of  realizing  that  the  work  before  him  is 
a  work  of  human  art,  and  not  a  work  of  nature ;  and  the 
pleasurable  emotion  results  from  this  simple  knowl- 
edge, and  not  from  a  Just  estimation  of  the  creative 
force  involved. 


ART, 


131 


I7tli.  The  sensuous  perception  of  matter  in  relation 
is  tlie  apprehension  of  an  idea.  This  apprehension  of 
an  idea  is  accompanied  with  a  pleasurable  emotion, 
more  especially  if  the  nature  of  the  idea  contradicts  or 
confirms  preconceived  ideas.  For  instance,  we  know 
that  a  ball  weighing  five  pounds  may  be  thrown  by 
hand  some  twenty  or  thirty  feet  high;  and  if  we 
should  see  it  done,  it  would  not  produce  a  pleasurable 
emotion,  because  we  compare  it  with  what  has  been 
done  before  by  ourselves  or  others,  and  we  find  the 
phenomenon  to  accord  with  past  experience.  It  dis- 
plays no  special  thought,  skill,  or  physical  strength. 
A  wooden  ball,  weighing  five  pounds,  is  about  eight 
inches  in  diameter.  A  ball  of  iron  of  the  same  diam- 
eter would  weigh  about  seventy -five  pounds.  If  we 
should  see  an  iron  baU,  eight  inches  in  diameter, 
thrown  thirty  feet  high  by  muscular  power,  we  should 
consider  this  an  extraordinary  feat  of  physical  strength, 
and  we  should  experience  a  pleasurable  emotion  in 
consequence. 

The  necessary  condition  precedent  to  this,  however, 
is  that  the  subject  should  know  something  of  the  rela- 
tive weight  of  wood  and  iron,  and  also  of  the  muscular 
strength  required  to  throw  five  pounds  and  seventy- 
five  pounds  respectively.  This  knowledge,  necessary 
to  the  sensuous  perception  which  affords  the  pleasur- 
able emotion,  is  the  result  of  education,  and  not  a  natu- 
ral gift.  The  pleasurable  emotion  experienced  also  dif- 
fers with  the  education  of  the  subject.  The  relative 
weight  of  wood  and  iron  may  not  be  correctly  rated : 
the  standard  muscular  strength  of  the  human  arm  may 
be  over  or  underestimated.  Then,  again,  the  sen- 
suous perception  may  be  erroneous.  For  instance,  what 


132       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 


is  supposed  to  be  a  solid  iron  ball  may  be  a  hollow 
one,  and  may  not  weigh  seventy-five  pounds.  In  any 
event,  the  pleasurable  emotion  will  be  proportionate 
to  the  imagined  ratio  of  muscular  force  between  that 
of  the  performer  and  an  average  muscular  man,  and 
not  the  real  ratio.  And  even  this  imagined  ratio  is 
known  from  prior  education — imperfect,  indeed,  but 
still  a  sort  of  education  and  not  a  natural  sense. 

18th.  The  pleasurable  emotion  of  the  subject  in  the 
presence  of  a  work  of  nature  or  of  fine  art,  being  a  re- 
sult of  the  perception  of  creative  ability  or  force,  the 
subject  may  overrate  this  creative  force,  or  as  is  most 
frequently  the  case,  he  may  underrate  it,  and  yet  he 
may  experience  a  pleasurable  emotion  of  greater  inten- 
sity than  that  produced  by  another  art  work.  But  this 
is  no  proof  of  the  relative  value  of  the  two.  It  may  be 
caused  by  imperfect  education;  for  it  appears  here,  as  in 
the  physical  feat  related  above,  that  the  imagined  crea- 
tive power  perceived  by  the  subject  in  art  work,  and 
not  the  intrinsic  power  possessed  by  it,  is  the  measure  of 
the  pleasui^able  emotion  experienced;  and  this  imagined 
creative  power  is  perceived  by  the  subject  only  by 
virtue  of  previous  education.  A  well  trained  pointer 
will  stand  perfectly  still  the  moment  he  sees  a  picture 
of  a  hunting  scene  wherein  the  game  is  started.  To 
him  the  picture  is  a  reality,  not  a  work  of  art  at  all. 
He  compliments  the  artist  by  this  act,  but  is  not  sup- 
posed to  realize  in  any  degree  the  presence  of  artistic 
creative  force ;  for  if  he  did,  he  would  know  it  to  be 
a  picture,  and  would  not  point.  Thus  when  /'^-creation 
assumes  the  aspect  of  reality  with  uneducated  persons, 
as  is  the  case  frequently  when  such  persons  visit  the 
play,  they  weep  and  laugh  with  the  changing  fortunes 


ART. 


133 


of  the  hero,  because  they  imagine  his  joys  and  suffer- 
ings to  be  real.  They  experience  no  surprise  or  pleas- 
urable emotion  until  apprised  of  the  fact  that  what 
they  had  seen  or  heard  was  not  real.  There  is  also  a 
false  pleasurable  emotion  caused  by  false  works  of 
art.  The  cause  in  this  case  is,  again,  a  supposed  crea- 
tive force.  It  is  not,  however,  discerned  in  the  expres- 
sion of  an  idea  in  matter ;  for  indeed  there  is  either 
no  idea  expressed,  or  it  is  expressed  very  indifferently. 
But  the  subject  imagines  that  there  must  be  a  creative 
force  of  some  magnitude,  for  the  reason  that  other 
persons  express  satisfaction  with  such  a  work  of  art. 
The  argument  of  the  subject  is  that  a  recognition  of 
merit  could  not  be  attained  w^ithout  considerable  crea- 
tive power  in  the  artist,  and  he  is  pleasurably  moved 
by  this  imagined  creative  force. 

19th.  An  idea,  as  has  been  explained  above,  cannot 
be  directly  expressed  in  art.  It  must  first  be  mate- 
rialized in  the  form  of  an  act  illustrative  of  the  -idea. 

It  needs  no  argument  to  show  that  the  selection  of 
the  act  and  its  material  development  (the  emphatic 
bringing  out  of  the  resulting  emotions)  is  an  element- 
ary art  effort  of  great  importance ;  yet  to  the  majority 
of  men  an  art  work  is  not  known  to  be  the  expression 
of  an  idea  in  matter.  They  look  upon  it  simply  as  a 
reproduction  of  a  material  condition,  and  judge  of  it  as 
such  alone.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  not  infrequently 
the  case  that  the  merit  of  the  original  art  work  of  ma- 
terializing an  idea  is  better  understood  than  the  sub- 
sequent representation  of  the  materialized  idea,  but  is 
confounded  with  it  and  becomes  the  cause  of  pleasur- 
able emotions,  which  are  attributed  to  the  representa- 
tion of  the  materialized  idea.    This  is  very  frequently 


134       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 


tlie  case  where  a  well  written  drama  is  applauded 
when  it  is  very  indifferently  performed ;  or  the  reverse 
is  illustrated,  when  good  acting  is  received  with  indif- 
ference because  of  the  shortcomings  of  the  author. 
The  same  is  the  case  in  music.  The  best  music  fails 
to  create  pleasurable  emotion,  although  it  is  most  ably 
performed,  because  the  audience  is  ignorant  of  the  idea 
attempted  to  be  expressed,  or  of  the  acts  which  are 
selected  to  illustrate  it. 

20th.  Taste  is  supposed  to  be  a  sort  of  natural  sense 
which  enables  men  to  appreciate  works  of  fine  art,  and 
to  determine  their  art  value. 

There  are  those  who  are  deaf  and  blind,  and  there 
are  doubtless  those  who  lack  that  modicum  of  taste  in 
which  the  multitude  believes.  But  what  is  believed 
is,  that  taste  alone,  unaided  by  education,  affords  a 
perception  of  art,  precisely  as  the  senses  of  sight  and 
hearing  afford  a  perception  of  the  presence  of  matter 
and  its  motion.  This  is  probably  true  in  the  main ;  but 
the  popular  belief  overrates  the  value  of  sensuous  per- 
ception as  a  means  of  knowledge,  and  fails  also  to  make 
due  allowance  for  the  deficiencies  to  which  taste  is  sub- 
ject, outside  of  the  defects  of  sensuous  perception ;  and 
finally  ignores  the  fact  that  taste,  so  far  as  it  is  a  func- 
tion of  the  mind,  so  called,  viz. :  a  comparison  of  the 
art  work  perceived  with  other  matter  which  is  a  pro- 
duction of  nature,  is  entirely  the  result  of  previous 
education, 

A  comparison  of  three  kinds  of  perception,  all  of 
which  are  accompanied  with  the  pleasurable  emotion, 
will  help  us  greatly  to  understand  this  matter. 

Let  us  imagine  our  subject  in  the  presence  of  an 
athlete,  who  throws  iron  balls  eight  inches  in  diameter, 


ART, 


135 


to  a  height  of  thirty  or  forty  feet.  He  is  pleasurably 
excited  by  reason  of  an  extraordinary  development  of 
physical  strength.  The  immediate  cause  of  the  pleas- 
urable emotion  is  his  sensuous  perception.  He  sees 
the  performance  of  the  feat,  and,  by  comparing  what 
he  sees  with  what  he  has  heretofore  seen  or  learned  of 
the  weight  of  metals  and  of  muscular  strength,  he  forms 
a  judgment  of  the  magnitude  of  the  muscular  feat  as 
executed  before  him,  and  his  pleasurable  emotion  will, 
in  quality  and  quantity,  agree  with  the  judgment 
formed. 

We  may  readily  conceive  that  the  whole  basis  of 
this  judgment  is  nothing  more  than  prior  and  present 
education. 

In  the  second  case,  our  subject  is  proffered  a  problem, 
the  solution  of  which  involves  an  equation.  Not  being 
familiar  with  algebraic  processes  he  fails  to  solve  it. 
Another  person  present  gives  the  solution  without 
much  labor.  Our  subject  tries  its  correctness  arithmet- 
ically, and  feels  pleasurably  excited  on  perceiving  that 
the  answer  complies  with  the  conditions.  This  pleas- 
urable emotion  is  caused  by  a  perception  of  the  mental 
power  displayed  by  the  person  solving  the  problem. 

Now,  inasmuch  as  our  subject  has  no  knowledge 
whatever  of  the  means  applied  to  arrive  at  a  correct 
result,  beyond  a  knowledge  of  arithmetic  sufficient  to 
test  its  correctness,  it  may  be  imagined  that  the  pleas- 
urable emotion  must  be  the  result  of  a  natural  sense 
or  appreciation  of  mathematical  problems,  a  mental 
quality  which  to  him  is  entirely  unknown.  Yet,  a 
moment's  reflection  will  show  that  this  also  is  the  result 
of  education — the  education  derived  from  the  personal 
attempts  and  failure  of  the  subject  to  solve  this  same 


136 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


problem  by  processes  known  to  him.  His  failure  teaches 
the  fact  that  a  mental  effort  unknown  to  him  is  needed 
to  perform  what  to  him  seems  a  mental  feat.    He  can- 
not estimate  the  exact  magnitude  of  this  mental  effort 
beyond  this  point,  that  it  is  an  effort  greater  than  any 
mental  effort  known  to  him,  and  hence  the  surprise  or 
pleasurable  emotion.    It  is  very  probable  that  our  sub- 
ject overrates  the  magnitude  of  the  mental  power  dis- 
played ;  but  it  is  a  peculiarity  of  this  and  similar  cases 
that  the  subject  is  perfectly  conscious  of  his  oa\ti  defi- 
ciency, and  also  of  the  fact,  that  he  can  form  no  coiTect 
judgment  of  the  mental  power  displayed  by  another 
person.    But  if  we  present  to  our  subject  a  work  of 
fine  art,  say  a  painting  of  a  Madonna,  he  may  see  in  it 
the  mere  representation  of  a  woman,  the  picture  of  a 
mother,  or  the  ideal  expression  of  the  mother  of  God, 
and  in  either  event,  he  will  experience  a  pleasurable 
emotion.    This  pleasurable  emotion  mil  be  the  result 
of  what  he  conceives  the  painting  to  express,  combined 
with  his  momentary  impression  of  the  magnitude  of  the 
art  skill  exerted  to  express  it.    Now,  this  estimate  is, 
in  all  cases  where  the  subject  knows  nothing  of  paint- 
ing, simply  the  result  of  this  positive  knowledge,  that 
he,  the  subject,  is  not  capable  of  such  an  art  effort; 
and  to  this  extent  the  nature  of  the  surprise  runs  parallel 
with  the  second  case  stated  above.    But  beyond  this 
there  is  a  marked  difference  herein,  that  the  subject  has 
no  means  of  testing  the  efficacy  of  the  art  work,  like 
that  of  the  arithmetical  test  which  he  applied  to  the 
algebraic  problem ;  and  also  that  he  accepts  his  own 
interpretation  of  its  meaning  as  the  ultimatum  of  the 
art  effort,  and  hence,  also,  as  a  measure  of  the  crea- 
tive force  displayed.    We  find  here  not  only  a  total 


ART. 


137 


absence  of  conviction  that  lie  does  not  understand 
\      either  the  meaning  of  the  painting,  or  the  artistic  skill 
which  produced  it,  but  a  complacent  conviction  that  he 
has  fully  mastered  the  subject,  and  a  consequent  belief 
that  the  pleasurable  emotion  experienced  is  the  exact 
measure  of  the  creative  force  displayed.   The  man  who 
sees  in  the  stars  of  heaven  so  much  paper  tinsel  pasted 
upon  the  firmament,  can  boast  of  as  great  scientific  re- 
sults of  his  sensuous  perception  as  the  man  who,  in 
Eaphael's  Madonna,  sees  nothing  but  a  pretty  woman. 
And  yet  even  this  poor  appreciation  of  the  Madonna  is 
the  result  of  prior  education,  and  not  of  a  natural  sense ; 
for  had  he  been  confined  to  a  dark  cell  during  his  life- 
time, where  he  could  see  no  human  being,  the  painting 
of  the  Madonna  would  have  left  him  perfectly  indif- 
ferent, and  there  would  have  been  no  pleasurable  emo- 
tion whatever.    That  the  subject  may  understand  the 
character  of  the  mother,  or  may  be  able  to  appreciate 
the  ideal  of  the  mother  of  God,  a  long  train  of  personal 
experience  and  art  instruction  must  be  called  into 
requisition,  and  it  needs  no  further  argument  to  show 
that  in  this  case  his  taste  is  not  a  natural  sense,  but 
the  result  of  a  long  continued  education.    But  when  a 
person  has  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  ideas  derived 
from  reading,  study,  and  observation,  and  when  he  also 
understands  the  technical  methods  used  in  representing 
ideas  in  matter,  we  do  not  speak  of  him  so  much  as  a 
man  of  taste  as  a  man  of  knowledge.    We  say  he  has 
studied  art,  he  knows  art.   The  term  taste,  in  its  popu- 
lar acceptation  (and  we  may  well  doubt  that  there  is 
any  other,  for  the  true  artist  rarely  talks  of  taste), 
refers  to  that  uncertain,  vague,  imperfect  knowledge 
which  men  acquire  without  knowing  what  they  have 


138       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


acquired.  TMs  is  not  the  knowledge  found  in  books, 
wHcli  gives  the  essence  of  study  and  observation  de- 
voted to  thought,  to  matter,  or  to  art ;  but  the  knowl- 
edge which  comes  by  chance,  ninety-nine  hundredths 
of  which  is  falsehood,  prejudice,  and  error,  derived 
from  unguarded  sensuous  percej^tions,  together  with 
that  so-called  information  which  others  put  forth  who 
are  busy  raising  similar  crops  of  defective  truth  and 
falsehood.  This  knowledge,  so  unlike  the  genuine 
article  that  men  do  not  know  how  they  came  by  it, 
furnishes  matter  for  comparison,  when  art  work  has  to 
be  appreciated  not  through  scrutiny  nor  analysis,  but 
according'  to  a  rash,  momentary  conclusion,  which 
hasty  conclusion  becomes  a  standard  of  measure  of  the 
creative  power  supposed  to  be  displayed  by  the  work. 
Whatever  may  be  the  estimate  of  that  creative  power 
which  is  arrived  at  through  these  scanty  means,  it  is 
still  the  source  of  pleasurable  emotions ;  and  when  the 
subject  is  alfected  by  them,  he  concludes  that  his  emo- 
tions are  those  of  taste. 

We  may  confidently  assert  that  the  sense  of  taste,  as 
popularly  understood,  has  no  existence — none  at  least 
that  is  of  value  in  connection  with  works  of  fine  art,  or 
in  their  production.  The  qualifications  which  enable 
a  man  to  form  a  judgment  of  an  art  work  are  due  to 
education,  not  often  premeditated  education,  but  a  sort 
of  unconscious  empirical  education.  This  empirical 
education  produces  no  good  results  in  art,  but  has  been 
a  serious  detriment  to  it.  The  man  who  only  imagines 
he  can  swim,  will  be  convinced  of  his  error  the  moment 
he  gets  into  deep  water.  He  will  either  wade  ashore 
or  dro\vn.  The  man  of  "taste"  never  finds  out  his 
error. 


ART, 


139 


If  we  abandon  taste  as  uniyersal,  may  we  grant 
the  possession  of  it  to  individuals  especially  gifted 
by  nature;  that  is  to  say,  may  it  be  admitted  tliat 
these  individuals  understand  art  without  having  ac- 
quired a  knowledge  of  it  ?  To  answer  this  question 
in  the  afiirmative  would  imply  that  these  persons  have 
replaced  acquired  knowledge  by  personal  observation. 
If  so,  this  is  in  itself  a  species  of  education :  but  we 
may  well  doubt  the  possibility  of  this,  as  human  life 
is  too  short  to  observe  anew  what  has  been  observed 
before;  and  also  because  the  most  acute  observer  is 
subject  to  error,  to  eliminate  which  is  the  principal 
work  of  education. 

What  is  true  in  the  premises  is  that  one  man  may 
learn  faster  than  another,  by  reason  of  a  more  vigorous 
and  healthy  nervous  system ;  but  this,  after  all,  is  but 
a  useful  tool  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  not 
knowledge  itself. 

The  nature  of  art — and  here  we  mean  fine  art — ^be- 
ing a  representation  of  ideas  in  matter,  we  must  con- 
clude that  its  function  is  to  convey  instruction.  It 
will  doubtless  be  objected  that  no  artist  enters  the 
field  of  art  with  this  view,  nor  does  he  pursue  art  for 
this  purpose;  and,  also,  that  the  outlay  of  mental  and 
technical  effort  involved  in  art  seems  disproportionate 
to  the  result  in  knowledge. 

It  may  be  granted  that  the  dissemination  of  knowl- 
edge is  not  the  primary  object  of  the  art  student ;  but 
this  does  not  prove  that  it  is  not  the  ultimate  result  of 
art.  The  causes  which  prompt  men  to  devote  them- 
selves to  art  are,  like  all  direct  natural  causes,  often 
distinct  from  and  irrelevant  to  the  ultimate  end 
attained. 


140       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


We  eat  because  it  gratifies  a  physical  appetite,  and 
tickles  the  palate.  Very  few  persons  sit  down  to  din- 
ner with  the  avowed  object  of  renovating  their  physi- 
cal organism.  We  learn  to  swim,  not  in  order  to  cross 
rivers,  but  to  enjoy  the  sensation  of  swimming  about 
aimlessly. 

Many  become  artists  through  an  inherent  love  of  na- 
ture, or  because  they  desire  the  social  position  enjoyed 
by  other  artists;  many  because  the  effort  involves 
great  exertion,  and  they  are  ambitious  to  overcome 
difficulties;  while  others  imagine  the  reverse  to  be 
true,  and  that  art  is  an  easy  road  to  affluence  and 
fame.  The  great  majority  believe  that  they  are  pos- 
sessed of  taste,  and  that  nothing  more  than  taste  is 
needed  to  place  them  in  the  first  ranks  of  art. 

But  the  true  artist,  when  finally  developed,  becomes 
a  teacher  and  a  prophet  to  his  race,  whether  he  knows 
it  or  not.  Poetry  and  painting,  music,  the  drama, 
sculpture,  and  architecture,  depict  emotions  which,  by 
a  process  of  mental  contagion,  generate  sympatheti- 
cally other  emotions,  and  thus  teach  men  to  feel  ideas 
which  they  could  not  comprehend  in  their  abstract 
form. 

It  is  true  that  an  idea  may  be  demonstrated  or  de- 
fined with  much  less  labor  than  it  can  be  represented 
in  matter  by  means  of  art ;  but  when  we  consider  that 
whenever  an  idea  is  represented  in  matter  successfully, 
it  lives  forever,  and  communicates  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions to  multitudes  who  are  in  no  other  w\ay  accessible 
to  them,  it  becomes  a  serious  question  whether,  with- 
out art,  the  human  race,  in  spite  of  the  great  work  of 
science,  would  not  sink  into  barbarism. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


OF  BEAUTY. 

WmcKELMANi^',  in  his  art  history,  concludes  that  it  is 
impossible  to  arrive  at  a  comprehensive  definition  of 
beauty.  He  says  of  beauty  that  it  is  mysterious,  and 
that  it  can  be  measured  only  by  its  effects  upon  man ; 
meaning  thereby  the  pleasurable  emotion  experienced 
upon  the  contemplation  of  a  beautiful  object.  Of  this 
emotion  he  ventures  to  give  a  description.  He  says,  "  It 
begins  like  a  gentle  titillation  of  the  skin,  the  precise 
location  of  which  we  are  at  a  loss  to  discover." 

Theodore  Mundt,  a  German  professor  of  philosophy, 
has  written  a  small  volume,  called  Esthetics,  or, 
the  Idea  of  the  Beautiful  and  of  Art  Works,  in  the 
light  of  our  own  time."  To  give  a  specimen  of  this 
light,  as  seen  by  Professor  Mundt,  we  need  only  to 
state  what  he  conceives  to  be  Winckelmann's  idea  of 
the  substance  of  the  beautiful.  He  says, "  Winckelmann 
has  resigned  all  philosophical  comprehension  of  the 
beautiful,  yet  he  describes  very  correctly  its  substance, 
which  in  a  special  sense  consists  in  the  fact  that  it  is 
everywhere  and  nowhere ^ 

Let  the  student  of  art  wait  until  he  feels  decided 
symptoms  of  titillation  of  the  cuticle  in  a  particular 
spot  which  is  everywhere  and  nowhere,  and  he  will 
know  that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  beauty,  the  substance 
of  which  is  also  everywhere  and  nowhere,  and  the 


142       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


nature  of  wLicli  is  so  mysterious  that,  by  the  light  of 
our  time,  we  cannot  with  sufficient  clearness  form  a 
philosophic  conception  of  it.  He  will  then  be  per- 
fectly sure  that  he  is  blessed  with  a  vision  of  a  true 
work  of  fine  art. 

It  is  the  accepted  theory  that  works  of  art  and  nature 
are  possessed  of  a  quality  named  beauty,  and  by  reason 
of  this  quality  they  produce  a  pleasurable  emotion. 
The  subjective  treatment  of  aesthetics  relates  to  the 
subject  as  affected  by  the  beauty  of  a  work  of  art,  and 
inquires  into  the  nature  of  the  emotions,  in  order  to 
elicit  an  answer  to  the  question,  what  is  beauty  ?  The 
objective  treatment,  on  the  other  hand,  inquires  into 
the  nature  of  beauty  in  the  first  place,  and  then  attempts 
to  test  the  success  of  the  definition  attained  by  apply- 
ing it  to  the  emotions  experienced. 

The  essence  of  beauty  is  discussed  as  well  as  its 
phenomenal  manifestations.  It  is  questioned  whether 
beauty  can  be  determined  upon  one  common  property, 
or  whether  there  is  not  a  series  of  properties  which  are 
each  and  all  capable  of  producing  pleasurable  emotions 
under  certain  conditions.  The  emotions  being  granted, 
it  is  inquired  what  is  the  mental  quality  concerned  in 
them.  All  these  inquiries  are  finally  to  lead  us  to  a 
knowledge  of  the  nature  of  art  work,  the  source  and 
ultimate  effect  of  the  examination. 

This  method  of  inquiry  may  be  compared  to  an  at- 
tempt to  discover  the  nature  of  a  disease  by  analyzing 
the  emotions  produced  in  ourselves  upon  seeing  the 
patient,  or  by  the  study  of  his  general  appearance,  or 
by  both,  without  first  inquiring  into  the  anatomy  of  the 
human  body,  or  the  chemical  process  by  which  its 
vitality  is  sustained. 


OF  BE  A  UTY. 


143 


Winckelmann  failed  in  describing  tlie  emotions,  be- 
cause lie  imagined  tbat  bis  definition  must  refer  directly 
to  ultimate  pbysical  pbenomena  resulting  from  tbem, 
instead  of  examining  first  the  mental  nature  of  tbe  im- 
pression. Doubtless  mental  impressions  react  upon  tbe 
body;  and  perbaps  tbe  process  of  tbis  reaction  and  tbe 
consequent  pbysical  result  will  some  day  be  laid  down 
in  medical  works  witb  tbe  same  precision  witb  wbicb 
we  now  describe  tbe  metbod  of  rolling  an  iron  beam 
or  boring  a  steam  cylinder.  It  is  very  possible  tbat 
tbe  mental  impression  produced  by  beauty  in  art  and  in 
nature  may  result  in  nervous  action  akin  to  titillation; 
but  wben  we  contemplate  tbe  endless  series  of  experi- 
ences, pbysical  and  mental,  wbicb  produce  similar  re- 
sults, tben  Winckelmann's  definition  of  tbe  emotions 
can  only  mislead  us.  And  again,  at  best,  Winckelmann 
gives  us  only  Ms  personal  experience.  Personal  expe- 
rience, under  special  pbysical  conditions,  cannot  be  ac- 
cepted as  a  pbilosopbical  guide  to  art.  You  may  see 
numbers  of  persons  in  front  of  Rapbael's  Madonna,  in 
tbe  Dresden  gallery,  wbo  are  subject  to  no  emotion 
wbatever,  until  told  tbat  tbe  canvas  is  wortb  bundreds 
of  tbousands  of  pounds,  and  could  not  be  bougbt  at 
any  price — wbicb  financial  statement  alone  may  sufiice 
to  tbrow  tbem  into  ecstacies. 

Tbe  emotions  experienced  in  viewing  an  ingeniously 
contrived  macbine,  or  at  tbe  solution  of  a  matbematical 
problem,  a  problem  of  any  kind,  of  mental  or  pbysical 
nature, — say  a  fine  sbot  around  tbe  table  in  billiards,  tbe 
turning  of  a  pirouette  in  dancing,  a  clever  cbeckmate, 
tbe  result  of  a  race,  and  in  many  otber  performances 
wbicb  bave  decidedly  no  relation  to  beauty  or  art, — are 
doubtless  so  near  akin  to  tbe  emotions  experienced  in 


144 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


the  contemplation  of  the  beautiful,  that  we  can  on  that 
ground  not  rely  upon  the  emotions  as  a  guide  to  art. 

When  we  contemplate  the  infinite  variety  of  objects 
which  are  universally  recognized  as  beautiful,  it  is  very 
difficult  to  discover  any  one  physical  property  common 
to  all.  With  regard  to  form,  if  we  compare  a  tree,  a 
woman,  a  mountain,  a  cathedral,  a  vase,  and  a  poem, 
we  cannot  say  that  these  objects  resemble  each  other  in 
any  one  element  of  their  form ;  and  the  same  is  also  true 
as  to  their  color.  But  when  we  reflect  that  sounds  are 
beautiful  as  well  as  forms,  we  must  abandon  all  quali- 
ties which  can  be  perceived  by  special  senses  as  possi- 
bly common  to  all  species  of  beauty. 

But  then  there  may  be  certain  attributes  of  art  objects 
which  are  abstract  qualities  not  relating  to  form,  color, 
or  sound.  The  first  attribute  naturally  thought  of  is 
agreeableness.  All  works  of  nature  and  art  produce 
an  agreeable  emotion,  if  not  in  all  persons,  at  least  in 
a  large  number  of  persons.  Unfortunately,  for  this 
hypothesis,  the  converse  is  not  true,  viz.:  that  all  objects 
or  sounds  which  produce  agreeable  emotions  or  sensa- 
tions are  beautiful. 

It  is  suggested  by  Lord  Jeffrey  that  perhaps  no 
object  is  beautiful  in  the  abstract  to  all  persons but 
that  objects  bring  up  to  the  minds  of  some,  certain 
human  experiences  mth  which  these  objects  are  related, 
which  experiences  constitute  the  source  of  pleasurable 
emotions.  As  every  work  of  art  is  the  expression  of 
an  idea,  and  as  human  ideas  naturally  pertain  to 
human  interests,  the  application  of  this  theory  is  so 
frequently  found  to  be  correct,  that  it  has  been  re- 
ceived with  great  approval  by  profound  thinkers.  But 
unfortunately  it  is  the  case  here,  as  in  the  previous 


OF  BEAUTY. 


145 


instance  of  agreeableness,  tliat  tlie  reminiscences  of 
these  human  relations  are  frequently  excited  by  objects 
entirely  devoid  of  beauty.  When  Lucinda  had  left 
the  room,  Alfred  found  one  of  her  gloves,  which  he 
preserves  to  this  day.  That  glove  is  not  a  work  of  art. 

Plato  has  established  the  principle  that  it  is  mind 
alone  that  is  beautiful;  and  if  by  this  he  meant  that 
fine  ai-t  deals  with  ideas  purely,  and  that  the  mental 
quality  which  enables  man  to  express  ideas  in  matter 
in  imitation  of  nature,  which  also  conveys  in  every 
organism  of  her  creation  an  idea  which  explains  the 
functions  of  the  organism  so  perfectly  that  we  bow 
down  in  admiration  of  the  mental  power  manifested, 
we  are  certainly  indebted  to  him  for  a  leading  thought 
in  aesthetics ;  but  we  must  regret  at  the  same  time  that 
he  has  not  stated  this  in  terms.  His  definition  of  beauty, 
though  undoubtedly  correct  and  comprehensive,  does 
not,  after  all,  add  to  the  stock  of  knowledge  on  the 
subject.  He  says,  in  the  greater  Hyppias,  that  beauty  is 
that  by  which  all  beautiful  things  are  beautiful. 

Socrates  holds  that  beauty  may  consist  in  the  fitness 
or  suitableness  of  any  object  to  the  place  it  occupies. 
This  is  true,  no  doubt,  as  to  many  art  works;  but 
especially  true  of  a  nail  driven  into  a  plank.  He  says 
that  pictures  and  other  purposeless  works  of  art,  when 
used  to  adorn  a  house,  hindered  rather  than  furthered 
enjoyment,  because  of  the  space  they  took  from  useful 
objects.  This  accords  with  the  modem  idea  that  art 
works  are  things  not  necessary  to  man. 

Aristotle's  views  are  interesting,  mainly  as  support- 
ing the  principle  that  art  work  deals  with  things 
unnecessary  (or  directly  useless) ;  and  also  as  fore- 
shadowing the  theories  of  Pere  Buffier,  afterward 

10 


146 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


adopted  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  tliat  beauty  consists 
in  a  certain  magnitude;  it  being  desirable  that  the 
object,  whether  a  natural  body  or  a  work  of  art,  should 
not  be  too  large,  while  clearness  of  perception  demands 
that  it  should  not  be  too  small.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
seems  to  think  that,  provided  the  whole  be  visible  as 
such,  the  greater  magnitude  of  an  object  is  itself  an 
element  of  beauty.  Pere  Buffier's  construction  of  the 
theory  is,  that  beauty  consists  in  mediocrity  or  con- 
formity to  that  which  is  most  usual.  When  applied  to 
animal  forms,  special  cases  would  certainly  justify  such 
a  theory,  which  is  the  probable  reason  why  it  was 
adopted  later  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  But  it  is  very 
far  from  forming  a  theory  which  can  be  accepted  as  a 
law  of  beauty,  especially  as  notions  of  magnitude  can- 
not apply  to  music,  poetry,  dancing,  or  the  drama. 

Baumgarten,  the  first  of  the  Germans  who  attempted 
a  complete  system  of  the  philosophy  of  art  and  the 
beautiful,  approached  the  truth  more  nearly  than  any 
of  his  successors.  Logical  knowledge,  he  says,  has  for 
its  object,  truth,  and  aesthetic  knowledge,  heauty.  This 
would  imply  that  beauty  can  be  received  only  in  op- 
position to  truth,  or,  at  least,  that  truth  is  not  an  essen- 
tial element  of  beauty,  and  is  so  far  of  doubtful  value 
in  aesthetic  inquiry.  But  he  gives  us  a  definition  of 
logical  knowledge  as  conceptive  knowledge  (begrei- 
fendes  Erkennen),  the  act  of  the  understanding,  and  its 
result,  clear  conception;  While  aesthetics  deal  with  con- 
ceptions not  clear  J  but  confused  (verworrene  Vorstel- 
lungen),  namely,  sensuous  knowledge. 

This  definition  is  valuable  in  so  far  as  it  determines 
the  purpose  of  art  to  be  hiowledge.  It  has  been  ob- 
jected to  tliis  mode  of  dealing  with  impressions  of 


OF  BE  A  UTY. 


147 


beauty  simply  as  intellectual  elements,  tliat  it  fails  to 
account  for  the  emotional  results,  feeling  being  distinct 
from  knowledge.  This  would  be  a  valid  objection,  if 
the  pleasurable  emotion  were  a  result  of  the  knowl- 
edge acquired,  but,  as  may  be  shown,  this  is  not  the 
case.  The  emotion  or  the  mfprise  is  not  the  result 
of  the  idea  expressed  (which*  is  truly  a  species  of 
knowledge),  but  of  the  fact  that  by  human  ingenuity 
(art)  an  idea  is  expressed  in  matter,  and  of  the  mental 
and  technical  effort  of  the  artist  who  has  succeeded  in 
expressing  it. 

The  theory  of  art,  as  discussed  by  Schiller  in  his 
famous  letters  on  aesthetic  education  ("  Ueber  die  as- 
thetische  Erziehung  des  Menschen,  in  einer  Reihe  von 
Briefen),  deserves  special  consideration,  not  so  much  for 
the  value  of  its  conclusions  (for  indeed  there  are  no 
conclusions  with  reference  to  either  the  nature  of 
beauty  or  the  function  of  art),  but  for  the  large  repu- 
tation of  that  theory  and  its  errors,  in  s]Dite  of  a  seem- 
ingly profound  philosophical  verbiage  which  surrounds 
it.  Schiller  reviews  the  sensual  tendency  of  man,  which 
he  calls  the  tendency  of  matter  (Stofftrieb)  and  the 
counteracting  tendency  of  reason,  the  moral  law  which 
he  terms  the  tendency  to  form  (Formtrieb),  which  means 
the  tendency  to  restrain  sensuous  nature  within  the 
limits  of  certain  ybrms  or  laws.  He  takes  great  pains  to 
show  that  these  two  tendencies  are  not  in  absolute  oppo- 
sition to  each  other,  when  in  reality  the  one  is  the  com- 
plement of  the  other,  as  in  a  clock,  the  pendulum  is  the 
complement  of  the  spring,  both  the  invention  of  the 
same  mind.  Without  the  pendulum  the  clock  would 
run  down  in  a  very  short  time,  and  during  that  time  it 
would  not  perform  its  functions,  viz :  to  keep  correct 


148       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


time.  Man  is  a  species  of  clock ;  Ms  sensuous  desires 
and  passions  are  the  spring,  his  moral  convictions  the 
pendulum.  The  solicitude  to  continue  life  as  long  as 
possible,  and  to  enjoy  existence  while  it  lasts,  necessi- 
tates restraint  in  gi^atifying  physical  appetites;  and 
thus  the  most  uncultivated  is  willing  to  submit  to  rea- 
son, and  the  most  refined  to  yield  to  the  dictates  of  the 
senses.  That  in  so  doing,  there  is  a  constant  success  on 
one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  or  a  constant  attempt 
and  failure  at  equilibrium,  as  Schiller  has  it,  is  certainly 
true :  but  it  is  not  true,  as  he  says,  that  the  burden  of 
this  battle  is  so  great  for  man  that  he  resorts  to  art 
creation  by  virtue  of  a  third  tendency,  which  he  calls 
a  tendency  to  play  (Spieltrieb),  for  the  purpose  of  evad- 
ino;  this  constant  restraint  in  a  field  where  the  restraint 
is  not  an  absolute  necessity,  or  does  not  exist.  The 
creations  of  art  are  subject  to  the  same  laws  as  those 
of  nature.  The  artist  as  the  creator,  and  his  audience, 
both  participate  in  the  human  tendencies  and  restraints 
of  the  heroes  of  art  production  to  the  extent  of  actual 
joy  and  suffering ;  and  no  transgression  against  these 
natural  laws  can  for  a  moment  be  indulged  without  det- 
riment to  the  art  work.  Art  is  re-creation  ;  and  when 
the  author  paints  his  hero,  he  fights  mth  him  the  battle 
of  life.  This  hero,  moreover,  being  an  ideal  hero,  has 
strong  passions  and  •  strong  principles  to  combat ;  and 
his  suffering  and  triumphs  become  those  of  the  author 
the  more  intently  as  his  final  success  is  dependent  upon 
the  sympathy  of  the  audience  who  sit  in  judgment 
upon  the  justice  of  the  expression  of  this  very  battle, 
which  forms  the  gist  of  the  idea,  the  final  success  of 
a  moral  principle,  or  the  punishment  of  a  disregard  of 
it.    Hence  Franz  Moor  commits  suicide,  and  Fiesco  is 


OF  BE  A  UTY. 


149 


drowned ;  and  even  Carl  Moor,  wlio  sins  no  more  than 
lie  is  sinned  against,  must  leave  tlie  stage  to  meet  his 
doom. 

At  best  Schiller's  theory  attempts  to  explain  only 
how  art  came  to  be,  and  his  explanation  in  this  is  not 
sound.  The  pursuit  of  art  is  not  a  mere  (Spieltrieb) 
desire  to  play ;  it  is  re-creation,  a  desire  to  do,  to  work, 
to  explain  and  illustrate  nature's  laws.  The  reverse  is 
true,  inasmuch  as  play,  even  with  children,  is  a  s]3ecies 
of  effort  at  re-creation,  an  attempt  to  do  the  things 
which  are  done  by  grown  persons,  and  the  charm  of 
which,  to  the  child,  is  directly  proportional  to  success 
in  approaching  this  result.  The  questions  to  be  an- 
swered are :  What  is  the  distinguishing  element  in  an 
aii;  work  which  gives  it  place,  a  high  place  in  the  list  of 
human  productions  ?  What  are  its  intellectual  func- 
tions, and  whence  our  interest  in  it  ?  These  questions 
are  not  answered  by  Schiller. 

Leveque  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  all  beauty, 
in  its  objective  essence,  is  either  spirit  or  unconscious 
force,  acting  with  fullness  and  order.  We  may  pre- 
sume the  unconscious  force  to  mean  a  force  pertaining 
to  the  object  of  which  we  are  unconscious  to  this  ex- 
tent— ^that  we  admit  its  presence  but  do  not  know  its 
nature ;  which,  after  all,  amounts  to  the  same  thing  as 
the  spiiit  of  the  object.  If  by  spirit  M.  Leveque  means 
the  idea  expressed  through  matter  in  the  art  work,  we 
must  regret  that  he  did  not  say  so. 

Franz  Hemsterhuis,  a  Dutch  writer,  speaks  of  recon- 
ciliation between  the  sensational  and  the  intuitive  sys- 
tems of  knowledge.  This  assumes  intuitive  knowledge 
to  be  independent  of  sensuous  impressions,  which  can- 
not be  true,  and  he  admits  as  much.    He  says,  "  The 


150       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


only  faculty  of  true  knowledge  is  an  internal  sense ; 
nevertheless  all  true  knowledge  comes  through  the 
senses."  And  further  he  explains  that  the  soul  desires 
immediate  and  complete  knowledge,  and,  being  limited 
by  its  union  with  the  senses,  which  are  incapable  of 
perfectly  simultaneous  action,  strives  to  gain  the  great- 
est number  of  the  elements  of  cognition  or  ideas  in  the 
shortest  possible  time :  in  proportion  as  this  effort  is 
successful,  the  knowledge  is  attended  with  enjoyment. 
The  highest  measure  of  this  delight  is  given  by  beauty ; 
wherefore  it  may  be  defined  as  that  which  affords  the 
largest  number  of  ideas  in  the  shortest  time. 

Here  we  have  great  truths  hidden  in  a  surrounding 
of  error.  AVe  are  convinced,  however,  that  Hemster- 
huis  dug  after  the  truth  to  a  purpose ;  that  he  ap- 
proached it  sufficiently  near  to  feel  \dvidly  its  pres- 
ence, yet  not  near  enough  to  analyze  its  nature.  He 
evidently  feels,  what  Baumgarten  definitely  states,  that 
art  deals  with  'knowledge — the  knowledge  of  ideas; 
not  a  definite  knowledge  indeed,  but  a  conception,  not 
dear  but  confused ;  or,  to  translate  his  expression  (ver- 
worrene  Vorstellungen)  more  accurately,  a  confused 
conception  of  a  reality  perceived  by  the  senses.  Now 
there  is  much  gained  by  this  conviction  that  fine  art  is 
a  species  of  knowledge,  a  thought,  an  idea,  a  conclu- 
sion, the  result  of  sensuous  perception ;  or,  in  other 
words,  an  idea  represented  in  matter.  It  is  also  true 
that  the  soul  desires  immediate  and  complete  knowl- 
edge ;  but  it  is  not  true  that  the  soul  (by  which  we 
must  suppose  Hemsterhuis  to  mean  the  ultimate  ar- 
rangement of  facts  perceived  by  the  senses,  and  elab- 
orated into  an  idea)  is  limited  by  its  union  with  the 
senses,  which  are  incapable  of  perfectly  simultaneous 


OF  BE  A  UTY, 


151 


action.  The  senses  are  the  instruments  of  the  process 
which  is  completed  in  the  brain.  "Without  these  in- 
struments the  brain  could  not  procure  the  elements 
which  must  form  the  hypothesis  of  all  action.  We 
may  as  well  say  that  the  quarry -man  who  desires  to 
separate  a  part  of  the  rock,  is  encumbered  in  doing  so 
by  his  wedges  and  drills  and  hammer ;  that  these  tools 
are  incapable  of  perfectly  simultaneous  action.  The 
tools  would  act  simultaneously  and  instantaneously  if 
his  arm  were  a  trip-hammer  of  sufficient  power  to  do 
the  work  without  a  perceptible  lapse  of  time.  Nor 
can  it  be  said  that  the  senses  do  not  act  with  sufficient 
rapidity  to  keep  pace  with  working  of  the  brain.  It 
is  the  brain  which  retards  the  process  of  perfect  cogni- 
tion by  the  work  imposed  upon  it  in  rehearsing  a  large 
series  of  sensuous  impressions  realized  elsewhere  and 
at  various  previous  times,  which  are  needed  to  help  it 
to  a  final  and  truthful  conclusion  more  or  less  complete. 
When  we  look  at  the  sun,  we  see  it  instantly  as  it  pre- 
sents itself  to  us  in  its  environment  of  distance.  We 
see  a  disc  of  light,  and,  in  the  absence  of  all  further 
knowledge  or  previous  sensuous  impressions  bearing 
upon  the  subject,  either  had  by  ourselves  or  commu- 
nicated to  us  by  other  persons,  the  idea  arrived  at 
would  be  simply  this,  that  the  sun  is  a  burning  disc  * 
suspended  conveniently  near  to  light  the  earth.  This 
is  the  sum  of  the  confused  knowledge  we  should  pos- 
sess of  the  sun,  and  it  would  be  derived  entirely  from 
our  sense  of  sight. 

A  just  appreciation  of  the  magnitude  of  the  sun  in- 
volves the  knowledge  of  a  long  train  of  facts  observed 
also  by  the  sense  of  sight  which  bear  upon  the  com- 
plicated investigation  of  the  transit  of  Venus.  Now 


152       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


the  understanding  of  a  common  observer  of  the  sun 
does  not  contain  a  repertoiy  of  all  or  perhaps  even  the 
leading  facts  of  distance,  velocity,  time,  etc.,  as  observed 
of  the  relative  position  of  the  sun,  Venus  and  the 
earth ;  and  though  his  eyes  act  with  sufficient  rapidity 
to  see  the  sun  as  it  appears,  the  understanding,  the 
brain,  or  the  soul  can  draw  no  just  conclusion  as  to  the 
distance,  size,  and  form  of  the  sun,  by  merely  looking 
at  it.  Parental  love,  to  be  understood  in  all  its  phases, 
needs  the  relation  of  innumerable  facts,  as  perceived 
by  the  senses,  arguments  from  these  facts,  and  a  state- 
ment of  sound  conclusions,  in  order  to  con\dnce  the 
uncultivated  understanding  of  the  magnitude  of  the 
interest  of  the  parent  in  his  child.  To  produce  an  ade- 
quate impression  upon  the  mind  of  a  person  not  pre- 
pared to  understand  all  this,  needs  time,  attention,  and 
the  exercise  of  certain  abilities,  both  on  the  part  of  the 
instructor  and  the  instructed.  A  jpictiire  of  the  return 
of  the  prodigal  son  not  only  develops  at  once  all  the 
facts  in  the  case,  but  exposes  the  principles,  the  senti- 
ments, the  virtues,  vices,  and  repentance  illustrated  by 
the  actors  in  the  picture,  and  permits  the  beholder  to 
see  at  once,  with  very  little  intellectual  exertion,  the 
facts,  the  arguments,  and  the  conclusion  contained  in 
that  simple  legend ;  and  affords  him  the  agreeable  sen- 
sation arising  from  the  successful  technical  and  mental 
effort  of  the  artist  who  produced  the  picture,  and  who 
thus  expresses  in  a  manner  to  be  seen  at  a  glance, 
this  whole  history  with  its  moral  lesson  hiding  and 
yet  plainly  revealing  a  series  of  arguments,  which  are 
made  apparent  to  the  beholder. 

All  this  is  the  gratification  of  the  soul,  as  Hemster- 
huis  has  it,  which  desires  immediate  and  complete 


OF  BE  A  UTY. 


153 


knowledge ;  but  it  is  tlirougli  the  exertion  of  tlie  senses 
alone  that  tlie  soul  desires  or  can  obtain  tliis  knowledge, 
but  not  by  its  own  exertion ;  bence  the  senses  do  not, 
as  Hemsterbuis  thinks,  limit  the  soul  by  their  union 
with  it  by  reason  of  inability  to  act  simultaneously ; 
but  they  are  the  factors  which  perform  the  whole  of 
this  intellectual  function.  We  cannot  entirely  disap- 
prove of  his  final  definition  of  beauty  as  "  the  element, 
which  in  an  object  affords  the  largest  number  of  ideas 
in  the  shortest  time ; "  but  we  should  certainly  modify 
it  by  stating  that  the  ideas  need  not  be,  in  fact  rarely 
are,  numerous ;  on  the  contrary,  works  of  fine  art  almost 
invariably  deal  with  but  one  idea ;  nor  can  it  be  said 
that  the  revelation  of  an  idea  in  any  other  manner  in  a 
short  time  is  necessarily  a  work  of  fine  art.  But  this 
is  true,  that  when  an  idea  is  so  represented  in  matter 
that  we  can  recognize  its  nature  without  serious  exer- 
tion of  the  mind,  by  a  mere  sensuous  effort,  then  this 
representation  of  an  idea  in  matter  may  be  said  to  be 
beautiful.  Whether  this,  however,  is  the  best  defini- 
tion of  the  nature  of  a  work  of  art  and  of  its  essential 
merit  will  appear  further  on. 

Lord  Shaftesbury  believes  that  the  beautiful  and  the 
good  are  combined  in  one  ideal  conception ;  also,  that 
matter  in  itself  is  ugly.  We  cannot  accept  this  as  a 
sound  logical  statement,  inasmuch  as  it  speaks  of  the 
beautiful  and  the  good  as  two  entities,  which  are  found 
to  be  united  in  one  idea  of  conception  ;  hence  it  must 
be  possible  for  the  beautiful  to  exist  without  the  good, 
the  good  not  being  necessarily  an  element  of  the  beau- 
tiful ;  which  is  probably  the  reverse  of  what  the  writer 
intended  to  establish.  The  assertion  that  matter  is  in 
itseK  ugly,  means  probably  that  without  a  combination 


154       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


mtli  an  idea  it  is  not  beautiful,  which  does  not  estab- 
lisli  the  fact  that  in  that  condition  it  is  ugly ;  for  ugli- 
ness, indeed,  implies  the  presence  of  an  idea  imperfectly 
rendered  in  matter.  He  says,  further,  the  order  of  the 
world,  wherein  all  beauty  really  resides,  is  a  spiritual 
principle,  all  motion  or  life  being  the  product  of  spirit. 

Rain  is  the  product  of  clouds ;  but  it  would  not  be 
true  to  conclude  for  that  reason  that  the  clouds  are 
the  source  of  all  water :  on  the  contrary,  clouds  are  a 
temporary  condition  of  water. 

We  know  something  of  matter,  its  motion,  and  the 
order  of  its  motion.  It  is  suggested,  however,  that 
this  order  is  a  law  or  principle  which  emanates  not 
from  matter  in  motion,  nor  from  its  relation  to  other 
matter,  but  from  a  source  which  is  not  matter  at  all, 
which  is  called  spirit  (an  entity  not  matter).  All  we 
know  of  spirit  therefore,  assuming  that  our  speculation 
is  knowledge,  is  that  it  is  the  property  of  spirit  to  de- 
termine laws  of  motion  (principles  of  motion).  We 
further  know  that  these  laws  of  motion  are  eternal ; 
the  function  of  the  spirit  has  ceased,  therefore,  at 
the  time  when  the  laws  were  established,  or  at  the 
beginning  of  eternity  (a  period  of  time  without  end). 
All  this  must  lead  to  the  conclusion  that  in  this 
long  train  of  argument  the  last  link  which  may  be 
definitely  grasped  is,  that  the  motion  of  matter  is  life, 
and  that  the  laws  of  the  motion  of  matter,  which  Lord 
Shaftesbury  calls  the  order  of  the  world,  comprehend 
that  which  we  call  the  beautiful ;  which  says  no  more 
than  that  the  beautiful,  not  unlike  that  which  is  not 
beautiful,  conveys  an  idea  of  matter  in  motion,  and  is  for 
that  reason  beautiful — a  definition  which  refutes  itself 
by  asserting  that  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the  beau- 


OF  BEAUTY. 


155 


tiful  is  the  property  of  all  things  which  move  in  this 
world. 

He  tells  us,  also,  that  the  principle  of  beauty  is  per- 
ceived, not  with  the  outer  senses,  but  with  an  internal 
or  moral  sense  (which  perceives  the  good  as  well). 
This  perception  affords  the  only  true  delight,  namely, 
spiritual  enjoyment. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  comprehend  anything  that  is 
perceived  otherwise  than  by  the  senses,  even  a  prin- 
ciple, which  is  the  recurring  relation  of  phenomena  as 
perceived  by  the  senses,  or  to  grant  superior  value  to 
internal  perception  over  the  external. 

If  our  eyes  were  covered  with  a  skin  resembling 
that  which  covers  the  rest  of  our  face,  with  this  excep- 
tional quality,  that  it  were  transparent  from  within 
when  the  light  impinged  on  the  outside  of  it,  but  ab- 
solutely opaque  to  reflected  rays  impinging  on  the 
inside  of  it,  then  the  sense  of  sight  would  become  an 
internal  sense.  A  mental  impression  of  an  object  seen 
in  the  past  differs  in  no  way  from  the  fixed  picture  on 
a  sensitive  plate  exposed  in  a  camera,  except  in  the 
process,  which  is  evidently  not  photographic,  inasmuch 
as  a  verbal  description,  or  the  touching  of  an  object 
will  and  does  reproduce  the  permanent  impression 
equally  well.  But  whatever  the  process,  the  percep- 
tion itself  cannot  be  ranked  higher  than  any  other 
sensuous  perception,  either  because  the  process  affects 
tissue  invisible  to  us,  or  because  we  do  not  know  how 
the  tissue  is  affected.  The  moral  sense,  so  called,  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  consideration  of  our 
own  physical  interests  from  that  particular  standpoint 
where  we  see  ourselves  as  a  part  of  the  universe ;  it  is 
more  comprehensive  than  the  mere  function  of  our  eye 


156       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


when  it  perceives  an  impending  blow ;  it  presupposes 
the  sensuous  perception  of  a  series  of  physical  phe- 
nomena pertaining  to  ourselves  and  others,  and  the 
universe,  and  on  that  account  being  nothing  more  than 
a  series  of  sensuous  experiences  applied  to  human 
physical  conditions.  Nor  can  we  assert  that  moral 
considerations  exclusively  contemplate  the  good  so 
called,  inasmuch  as  the  recognition  of  the  good  implies 
a  contemplation  of  the  opposite,  or  the  bad;  more 
especially  as  moral  law  pertains  to  the  avoidance  of 
evil  as  well  as  to  the  performance  of  that  which  is 
good.  It  is  even  so  with  what  Lord  Shaftesbury 
calls  spiritual  enjoyment,  which  is  nothing  more  than 
a  physical  enjoyment  in  anticipation  or  in  retrospect. 
Nor  can  we  in  all  this  find  a  definition  of  the  beautiful, 
nor  of  a  work  of  fine  art.  Lord  Shaftesbury's  distin- 
guishing order  in  which  he  expresses  the  three  grades 
of  beauty,  do  not  help  us  in  this  matter  any  more  than 
his  other  arguments  and  explanations.  They  are  as 
follows : 

1st.  Inanimate  objects,  including  works  of  art. 

2d.  Living  forms  which  reveal  the  spiritual  forma- 
tive force ;  and 

3d.  The  source  from  which  these  forms  spring — 
God. 

Speculation  as  to  conditions  of  form  which  consti- 
tute beauty  are  very  numerous.  Magnitude,  it  has 
been  asserted,  is  an  element  of  beauty ;  and  so  it  is  in 
so  far  as  it  indicates  dignity  in  a  structure,  or  power 
in  a  mountain  or  a  cataract :  but  in  a  human  nose  it 
would  tend  to  the  ugly,  either  because  it  is  a  mass  of 
matter  not  needed  to  perform  a  limited  function,  or 
because  the  function  performed  by  it  indicates  defect- 


OF  BE  A  TJTY. 


157 


ive  organization  in  some  other  part  of  the  linman 
body.  In  tlie  negro  a  certain  excess  of  nose  (as  con- 
sidered from  our  standpoint)  is  not  ugliness,  because 
in  liis  native  country  that  organ  must  admit  a  much 
larger  measure  of  atmospheric  air  at  every  inspiration, 
on  account  of  the  expansion  of  the  air  by  heat.  Hence 
a  negro  woman  may  be  considered  a  beauty  in  her  own 
country,  and  decidedly  ugly  in  a  colder  climate.  Ob- 
jects which  are  soft  to  the  touch,  and  according  to  others 
those  which  offer  a  moderate  amount  of  resistance,  are 
held  to  be  beautiful  on  that  account.  It  is  very  difficult 
to  ascertain  what  special  objects  are  referred  to.  If  a 
certain  rigidity  is  of  that  degree  which  responds  to  the 
functions  performed  by  an  object,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  it  becomes  expressive  of  those  functions,  and  con- 
stitutes for  that  reason  an  element  of  beauty.  Neverthe- 
less, conditions  of  density  of  matter  cannot  be  accepted 
of  themselves,  and  in  all  cases,  to  be  a  property  which 
determines  beauty.  Certain  lines  have  been  accepted  as 
beautiful,  and  objects  presenting  those  lines  in  their 
contour  have  been  pronounced  to  possess  the  property 
of  beauty  on  that  account.  Hogarth's  line  of  beauty 
has  furnished  aesthetic  stock  in  trade  to  the  artists  of 
his  time,  and  is  now  glibly  spoken  of  by  amateur 
critics  and  laymen.  In  the  human  form,  this  line  is 
often  expressive  of  the  functions  performed  by  the 
parts ;  yet  others,  endowed  with  a  curvature  of  that 
description,  would  be  pronounced  decidedly  the  re- 
verse of  beautiful,  even  by  Hogarth  himself.  And  parts 
of  structure  which  resist  strain  are,  no  doubt,  subject 
to  the  same  ruling,  on  the  ground  that  this  line  is  often 
inconsistent  with  a  just  expression  of  the  functions 
performed. 


158       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


Proportion,  as  commonly  understood,  is  probably  tlie 
most  delusive  attribute  of  beauty.  All  objects,  beau- 
tiful or  the  reverse,  are  possessed  of  a  quality  wMcli 
may  be  designated  a  relation  of  parts  or  proportion. 
To  constitute  beauty,  therefore,  a  precedent  condition, 
requires  that  the  proportions  of  part  of  an  object  should 
be  just.  How  are  we  to  ascertain  that  these  proportions 
are  just  ?  The  answer  is,  when  the  object  is  beauti- 
ful. And  if  we  ask  the  further  question,  when  and  un- 
der what  conditions  is  an  object  beautiful  ?  the  an-, 
swer  is,  when  its  parts  are  proportionate. 

This  endless  circular  argument  has  further  resolved 
itself  into  a  circle  of  three  links  instead  of  two,  viz. : 
beauty  excites  a  pleasurable  emotion ;  hence,  when  in 
the  presence  of  a  work  of  art  or  of  nature,  w^e  expe- 
rience a  pleasurable  emotion,  we  know  that  the  ob- 
ject is  possessed  of  the  property  known  as  beauty,  and, 
hence,  that  its  parts  are  23roportionate.  But  we  know 
that  the  so-called  pleasurable  emotions  are  by  no  means 
a  sure  guide  to  art,  inasmuch  as  pleasurable  emotions 
are  often  due  to  other  causes ;  and,  also,  that  their  in- 
tensity depends  as  much  upon  the  nature  of  the  subject 
in  whom  they  are  excited,  as  upon  the  object  exciting 
them.  Hence  the  pleasurable  emotions  do  not  assist 
us  in  determining  either  the  beauty,  or  the  value  of 
existing  proportion  in  an  object.  But  if  the  proportion 
^  of  parts  relates  to  their  functions  as  members  of  the 
whole,  then  we  certainly  can  resort  to  mechanical  and 
anatomical  considerations  capable  of  mathematical  de- 
monstration. 

Pere  Bouffier's  idea,  that  average  magnitudes  consti- 
tute beauty,  can  apply  to  the  animal  creation  only,  and 
merely  expresses  the  sentiment  of  Pope,  "  Whatever 


OF  BEAUTY, 


159 


is,  is  right :  "  but  it  cannot  be  extended  to  art  works  or 
to  natural  scenery ;  as  a  mountain  exceeding  twenty- 
eight  thousand  feet  in  height,  or  the  trees  of  the  Yo- 
semite  valley  would  become  decidedly  ugly. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  the  idea  of  beauty  grows 
out  of  an  interest  in  human  relations ;  and,  furthermore, 
that  art-works  deal  exclusively  with  these  relations. 

It  has  been  ingeniously  urged  that  natural  beauty, 
say  the  beauty  of  a  landscape,  is  to  be  found  in  its 
adaptability  to  a  possible  human  dwelling-place :  hence 
the  dreariness  of  a  desert.  But  all  this  does  not  ac- 
count for  the  beauty  of  the  lion,  the  tiger,  the  inacces- 
sible crevasse,  or  the  volcano. 

If  we  pursue  the  definition  of  a  work  of  fine  art, 
viz. :  that  it  is  an  idea  expressed  in  matter,  w:e  shall 
have  no  difiiculty  in  understanding  clearly  the  exact 
nature  of  beauty.  Fine  art  is  a  species  of  human 
short-hand  by  which  the  hypothesis,  the  argument, 
and  the  conclusion  pertaining  to  an  idea  (which  is  a 
relation  of  organized  matter),  are  at  once  presented  to 
us ;  and,  whether  we  thoroughly  understand  it  or  not, 
our  senses  convey  to  us  a  more  or  less  perfect  picture, 
capable  of  producing  an  impression,  proportionate  to 
our  understanding,  indeed,  but  within  that  limit  per- 
fectly complete. 

A  logical  demonstration  of  the  same  idea  in  words, 
in  definition,  explanation,  argument  and  conclusion, 
contemplates  a  certain  amount  of  intellectual  prepara- 
tion proceeding  through  a  variable  length  of  time. 
During  this  time  we  are  called  upon  to  entertain 
thoughts,  relations,  principles  in  which  we  have  no  per- 
ceptible interest,  until  their  relation  to  the  final  con- 
clusion is  reached ;  and  then  only  if  we  have  followed 


160       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


tlie  argument  througliout,  and  have  fully  succeeded  in 
mastering  it.  This  process  is  tiresome  to  the  mind,  and 
but  rarely  successful.  But  in  art  work,  or  in  a  work 
of  nature  (which  is  an  idea  presented  in  matter),  we 
can,  at  a  glance,  take  in  the  whole  scope  of  this  idea; 
not,  indeed,  to  the  extent  of  its  full  import,  but  to  such 
an  extent  as  we  are  prepared  intellectually  to  realize. 
The  very  first  result  of  such  a  sensuous  perception  is 
an  idea  brought  to  our  mind,  as  it  were,  by  simply 
looking  at  it,  or  by  listening  to  it,  and  before  we  have 
fully  realized  the  scope  and  import  of  it,  we  are  im- 
pressed by  the  magnitude  of  the  mental  effort  capable 
of  creating  such  a  work  of  nature,  or  of  art.  The  dumb 
thing  speaks  to  us,  and  we  are  delighted  to  find  that  it 
can  be  made  to  speak ;  and  we  say  that  it  is  beautiful. 
Now,  it  does  not  matter  whether  it  speaks  to  us  in  the 
soothing  tones  of  love  from  the  laughing  eyes  of  a 
Cupid,  or  in  the  thunder  notes  of  a  cataract,  a  volcano, 
or  a  storm.  This  knowledge  that  it  is  matter  which  is 
addressing  us,  prompts  us  to  admire  the  mind,  the  force, 
the  dexterity  which  can  make  matter  speak  to  us ; 
and  when  we  say  it  is  beautiful,  we  mean  by  it  that 
the  successful  effort  to  express  an  idea  in  matter  is 
beautiful.  The  idea  itself  may  be  hateful  to  us ;  we 
may  even  fear  and  dread  it.  Take  hell,  for  instance, 
with  all  its  horrors.  When  Dante  pictures  it  to  us,  we 
love  and  admire  the  picture,  and  deem  it  beautiful : 
not  because  it  is  hell,  but  because  it  is  a  creative  tri- 
umph of  human  ingenuity  to  present  a  picture  of  hell, 
the  idea  of  eternal  torment  expressed  in  matter, 
whether  it  be  presented  on  canvas  or  in  words.  Now 
it  must  be  remembered  as  more  especially  important 
that  this  admiration  of  the  creative  mind  refers  to  mind 


OF  BEAUTY. 


161 


in  the  abstract ;  not  at  all  to  the  author  of  the  art  work, 
or  to  God,  the  author  of  natural  productions.  We 
admire  the  force  whatever  it  be  (call  it  mind,  dexterity, 
skill,  anything,)  which  imbues  matter  with  a  meaning 
so  that  it  may  communicate  to  us  what  it  is  itself  do- 
ing— ^how  it  came  into  existence,  how  it  is  sustained  in 
life,  or  what  are  its  functions,  its  habits,  and  its  prob- 
able end ;  as  is  the  case  in  works  of  nature,  and  as  is 
the  case,  also,  in  art  work,  when  it  speaks  to  us  of 
human  relations  with  humanity,  or  with  the  universe 
outside  of  humanity. 

Nor  do  we  reflect  especially  upon  the  idea  commun- 
icated when  we  pay  this  tribute  to  the  creative  force. 
It  is  indifferent  to  us  whether  the  idea  be  one  to  excite 
pleasure  or  pain,  whether  it  present  to  us  a  picture  of 
virtue  or  vice,  whether  it  treat  of  the  heroism  or  the 
follies  and  foibles  of  humanity :  in  every  one  of  these 
cases  our  tribute  to  the  creative  force  is  one  of  pleas- 
urable excitement.  Now  the  work  of  the  creative  force, 
as  seen  in  nature  or  in  art,  is  the  beauty  we  talk  about. 
The  success  in  making  matter  speak,  or  sing,  or  dance, 
so  that  it  conveys  an  idea  by  its  expression,  constitutes 
beauty ;  and  the  degree  of  expression,  considering  the 
environment  of  the  idea  expressed,  and  the  nature  of 
the  matter  in  which  it  is  expressed,  constitutes  the 
degree  of  its  beauty. 

Now  this  is  worthy  of  being  more  closely  examined. 
Are  beauty  and  expression  convertible  terms?  Cer- 
tainly not.  Beauty  is  the  measure  of  creative  force  in 
the  abstract.  Expression  is  the  result  of  creative  force 
contemplated  as  dealing  with  certain  given  ideas  and 
certain  given  matter  in  which  the  ideas  are  to  be  ex- 
pressed. The  nature  of  the  idea,  its  tractability,  and 
11 


162       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


the  nature  of  the  matter  employed,  become  elements  in 
the  final  expression.  For  instance,  the  difficulty  of 
expressing  the  same  idea  must,  with  a  given  quantity 
of  creative  force,  increase  with  the  nature  of  the  matter 
employed  somewhat  in  the  following  order : 

1st.  A  picture  produced  by  dramatic  action  upon 
the  stage. 

2d.  A  picture  in  words. 

3d.  As  expressed  in  a  statue. 

4th.  Upon  canvas. 

5th.  In  music ;  and,  finally, 

6th.  In  an  architectural  monument. 

Or,  again,  the  quantity  of  matter  employed  in  one, 
and  the  same  method  of  expressing  an  idea  becomes 
an  element  of  expression,  as  may  be  readily  seen  in 
these  two  problems ;  a  colossal  Cupid  and  a  statuette 
of  Jupiter. 

In  nature,  where  the  creative  force  is  infinite,  the 
other  two  elements  which,  in  connection  with  it 
constitute  the  measure  of  expression,  become  so  insig- 
nificant that  they  may  be  safely  neglected ;  hence  in 
natural  phenomena,  beauty  and  expression  become 
identical  in  quantity,  if  not  in  meaning. 

A  natural  organism  which  fails  to  perform  the  func- 
tions intended,  or  an  organism  which  performs  func- 
tions inferior  to  the  standard  of  excellence  known  to 
us  as  the  functions  habitually  performed  by  similar 
organisms,  is  called  ugly. 

"When  such  an  organism  is  represented  in  matter 
with  premeditation, — the  object  being  to  convey  the 
notion  of  a  fallacious  idea, — ^this  is  a  work  of  fine  art ; 
the  object  represented  is  ugly  ;  and  the  art  production 
(if  successful)  is  beautiful  at  the  same  time.  This 


OF  BEAUTY. 


163 


condition  of  things  illustrates  forcibly  the  relation  of 
the  beautiful,  the  ugly,  and  of  art  expression. 

When  the  functions  successfully  performed  by  a 
natural  organism  or  an  art  object  transcend  functions 
habitually  contemplated  and  known  to  us,  such  a  work 
of  art  or.  of  nature  is  said  to  be  sullime. 

When  an  organism  in  nature  or  art  falls  short  of  a 
due  performance  of  function  to  a  limited  extent,  it  is 
ludicrous. 

The  popular  saying,  that  there  is  but  a  short  step 
from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous  is  a  popular  error  ; 
for  the  reason  that  there  is  a  difference  in  the  degree 
of  function  to  be  performed,  as  well  as  in  the  success 
of  performance.  The  sublime  contemplates  the  full 
performance  of  a  transcendent  function ;  the  ludicrous 
falls  short  of  a  normal  function. 

An  object  of  nature  or  of  fine  art  to  be  pronounced 
ugly,  must  possess  all  the  features,  parts  of  structure, 
or  functional  parts  needed  for  the  full  performance  of 
the  function ;  but  in  a  degree  either  in  excess  of,  or  in- 
sufficient, or  rudimentary  in  force  or  quality,  to  make 
a  successful  performance  of  the  function  possible. 

An  object  of  nature  or  of  fine  art  to  be  pronounced 
ludicrous,  must,  in  its  organism  as  a  whole  respond  to 
the  function  it  is  intended  to  perform ;  but  must  fail 
to  do  so  essentially  and  clearly  in  some  direction,  in 
some  one  feature,  part  of  structure,  or  functional  part. 
And  this  failure  must  arise  from  an  insufficiency  of 
force  or  action,  and  not  an  excess  of  it. 

In  a  work  of  fine  art  representing  the  ludicrous,  we 
again  find  the  possibility  of  co-existing  perfect  beauty 
and  imperfect  expression. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  IDEAL  AKD  IMITATIOIT. 

These  are  terms  constantly  used  in  sesthetics,  but 
rarely  understood  and  very  often  misconstrued. 

A  current  error  is  tliat  the  ideal  is  tlie  opposite  of 
reality,  and  that  the  artist,  to  give  dignity  and  value 
to  his  work,  must  mend  the  reality  which  he  essays  to 
depict  according  to  a  standard  j)rompted  by  his  own 
sense  of  what  this  reality  ought  to  be  ;  it  is  a  species 
of  misrepresentation  in  the  interests  of  art  and  some- 
times of  artists,  which  has  no  foundation  in  the  nature 
of  art,  and  leads  to  no  art  results.  Often  this  ideal- 
izing process  refers  merely  to  a  change  of  the  physical 
development  of  the  object  to  be  j^resented.  This  is 
more  especially  the  case  in  portraiture  on  canvas  or  in 
stone.  The  current  talk  of  idealizing  human  features, 
forms,  and  costume,  leads  at  once  to  the  examination 
of  portrait  work,  and  the  resulting  inquiry  to  what 
extent  it  may  be  recognized  as  fine  art.  Fine  art  is 
the  representation  in  matter  of  an  idea  indirectly 
through  the  direct  representation  of  an  emotion. 
Unless  the  aim  of  the  artist  in  a  portrait  is  to  delin- 
eate one  or  more  prevalent  objective  emotions  which 
through  frequency  have  become  habitual,  and  have 
imprinted  themselves  on  the  features  and  figure  of  the 
original,  the  work  produced  is  not  a  work  of  fine  art. 


THE  IDEAL  AND  IMITATION,  165 


Another  current  error  is,  that  the  function  of  the 
ideal  in  art  contemplates  the  representation  in  matter 
of  ideas  or  acts  which  exceed  those  found  in  nature; 
that  we  should  depict  heroism,  piety,  devotion,  love, 
etc.,  greater  than  any  heretofore  known  in  history,  or 
that  we  should  invent  forms  which  manifest  and  ex- 
press given  ideas  better  than  the  forms  of  nature  can 
express  these  ideas. 

It  may  well  be  doubted  whether  this  can  be  done ; 
and,  if  it  could  be  done,  it  would  be  inconsistent  with 
another  fundamental  law  of  art,  viz. :  imitation,  which 
prescribes  limits  incompatible  with  such  an  attempt. 

If  we  refer  to  the  definition  that  art  is  the  repre- 
sentation of  an  idea  in  matter,  and  that,  further,  the 
artist  must,  in  order  to  represent  an  idea,  select  an  act 
illustrating  it,  and  an  emotion  which  results  from  this 
act ;  that  he  must  in  his  art  work  represent  this  emo- 
tion ;  and,  farther,  that  the  success  of  his  creation 
depends  upon  his  technical  skill  in  executing  it, — it 
becomes  evident  that  in  the  selection  of  the  act  and 
the  resulting  emotion  must  be  involved  the  idealizing 
process  of  the  art  work :  and  this  is  really  true. 

The  emotion  to  be  represented  in  matter  determines 
the  technical  skill  required  to  represent  it ;  and  the 
greater  the  technical  skill  the  greater  the  art  force 
displayed. 

The  ideal  which  the  artist  selects  determines  the 
intricacy  and  difficulty  of  the  work  he  has  to  execute. 
An  example  enables  us  to  see  this  more  clearly. 
Charity,  for  instance,  is  an  idea  illustrated  by  the  act 
of  giving  to  the  poor,  or  by  an  emotion  of  sorrow 
arising  from  harsh  judgment  expressed  in  our  pres- 
ence.   A  gift  to  a  ragged  cripple,  the  widow's  mite, 


fee       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


are  typical  instances  of  charitable  action.  The  emo- 
tions caused  by  these  acts  find  expression  through 
physical  functions.  Sorrow  at  the  uncharitableness  of 
others  is  an  emotion  of  which  the  physical  functions 
are  infinitely  more  difficult  to  apprehend  and  also  to 
express  in  matter,  than  emotions  resulting  from  the 
mere  giving  of  alms.  In  the  latter  case,  the  act  itseK 
becomes  an  illustration  of  the  emotion ;  in  the  former, 
the  physical  functions  of  the  emotion  demand  subtle 
analysis,  and  can  be  expressed  through  matter  only  by 
consummate  technical  skill. 

The  more  exalted  the  act  which  illustrates  the  idea, 
the  more  difficult  is  the  problem  of  rendering  the  re- 
sulting emotions  in  matter;  and  the  greater  must  be 
the  theoretical  knowledge  and  technical  skill  of  the 
artist  to  fully  and  clearly  tell  the  story  he  desires  to 
communicate;  and  hence  the  greater  the  obstacles  to 
success. 

The  common  notion  that  the  ideal  in  art  is  opposed 
to  the  real  in  nature  will  now  become  apparent.  The 
woman  who  has  lost  her  child  may  be  represented  on 
the  stage,  shrieking  in  front  of  an  edifice  where  the 
child  is  supposed  to  be.  She  may  cry  and  tear  her 
hair.  Is  this  a  phase  of  fine  art?  Yes,  certainly;  but 
of  an  inferior  degree.  Neither  author  nor  actor  shows 
much  creative  skill  in  making  the  idea  apparent.  The 
mother's  grief  is  true  to  nature,  but  formed  after  a 
rude  and  low  ideal.  It  is  a  grief  of  so  demonstrative 
a  character,  as  to  need  no  art  to  make  it  apparent. 

Mary  Stuart  is  represented  by  Schiller  as  meeting 
her  death  calmly.  She  does  not  dwell  on  herself  or 
on  her  doom,  but  admits  her  transgressions,  and  exon- 
erates herself  from  false  accusations  in  the  fewest 


THE  IDEAL  AND  IMITATION.  167 

words ;  sLe  speaks  long  and  lovingly  of  tlie  services 
of  her  friends;  and  expresses  lier  regrets  at  parting 
with  them,  more  in  their  interest  than  in  her  own. 
Observe  how  the  ideal  of  the  author,  manifested  through 
the  acts  and  emotions  of  the  Queen,  illustrates  the  idea 
of  grief  at  approaching  death,  in  the  most  poetic  and 
exalted  manner,  and  also  with  perfect  truth  to  nature. 

The  selection  of  the  act  and  of  its  resulting  emotion 
to  illustrate  an  idea  in  fine  art,  constitutes  the  ideal. 

Imitation  in  art  is  commonly  understood  to  mean 
the  copying  of  nature's  forms  as  we  find  them.  If  it 
meant  this  and  nothing  more,  it  could  have  no  appli- 
cation to  architecture  and  music ;  and  but  a  partial  ap- 
plication to  poetry  and  dancing.  But  it  means  more 
than  this :  it  means  that  in  the  creations  of  art  we 
should  imitate  the  methods  of  nature  in  modelling  her 
organisms,  by  which  th^se  organisms  are  endowed  with 
an  expression  of  the  functions  which  they  perform. 
In  other  words,  nature's  laws  in  modelling  organisms 
apply  to  the  ideal  organisms  of  art  as  well. 

Art  deals  with  ideas  (relations  of  matter).  Nature 
also  deals  with  relations  of  matter.  Whenever  we  ob- 
serve a  temporary  relation  of  matter  in  nature, — and 
all  relations  of  matter  are  temporary, — the  duration  of 
this  relation  becomes  of  interest  to  us,  and  we  inquire 
diligently  into  its  origin,  its  development,  and  final 
dissolution.  A  plant,  an  animal,  are  aggregations  of 
matter  in  relation ;  and  every  phase  of  their  existence, 
be  it  development  or  decay,  is  a  function  of  this  special 
aggregation  of  matter.  We  watch  these  functions 
from  various  standpoints.  We  observe  the  mechanical 
work  performed,  the  elements  which  compose  the 
organism  (its  atomic  constituents),  the  division  and 


168       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 

sub-division  of  organic  constituent  parts,  its  general 
form.  With  regard  to  form,  wlietlier  it  be  tlie  general 
form  of  a  complicated  organism,  or  the  form  of  its 
members,  down  to  the  form  of  elementary  cells,  we 
everywhere  find  expressed  in  that  form  the  function 
performed  by  the  organism.  This  expression,  art  is  to 
imitate.  How  is  this  to  be  done?  Common  sense 
answers  :  Take  this  natural  form  as  a  model,  and  imi- 
tate it.  Common  sense  here,  as  elsewhere,  is  over-con- 
fident. 

In  painting  and  sculpture,  as  far  as  these  arts  deal 
with  natural  forms,  the  copying  process  would,  of  it- 
self alone,  be  insufficient.  In  architecture,  poetry  and 
music,  ideal  forms  must  be  developed,  as  there  are  none 
to  be  found  in  nature.  To  paint  the  animal  form, 
means  to  paint  the  skin  as  affected  by  the  motion  of 
the  skeleton  and  the  muscles  of  the  animal.  To  know 
exactly  how  the  form  of  the  animal  is  affected  by  its 
internal  mechanical  apparatus,  it  is  necessary  to  know 
the  form  of  the  parts  of  the  machine  ;  that  is,  the  form 
of  the  bones  and  muscles ;  and,  also,  the  mechanical 
laws  in  obedience  to  which  these  bones  move  when 
acted  upon  by  the  muscles  under  the  influence  of  the 
nerves,  which  are  directly  affected  by  an  idea  or  a 
physical  desire  to  move.  The  modifications  of  animal 
form  under  the  influence  of  motion  or  emotion,  are  too 
subtle  to  be  readily  seen  by  looking  at  them ;  although 
it  is  true  that  much  may  be  accomplished  by  long  con- 
tinued and  attentive  observation.  The  sculpture  of 
the  Greeks,  who  lived  in  the  presence  of  the  naked 
human  form,  serves  as  an  illustration  of  this.  But 
when  we  pass  beyond  the  limits,  within  which  art 
deals  directly  with  natural  organisms,  it  must  be  evi- 


THE  IDEAL  AND  IMITATION 


169 


dent  that  imitation  must  be  directed  first  to  acquiring 
a  knowledge  of  the  mechanical  laws  of  nature. 

Such  a  knowledge  enables  the  architect  to  construct 
the  skeleton  of  a  structure,  which,  in  the  form  and  re- 
lation of  its  parts,  shall  be  abundantly  competent  to 
resist  that  disintegration  which  in  all  statical  organisms 
proceeds  from  gravitation,  and  the  disturbing  influences 
of  atmospheric  action.  It  enables  him  also  to  determine 
how  much  of  this  structural  skeleton  must  be  betrayed 
in  the  visible  form  of  his  monument,  in  order  to  convey 
the  assurance  that  stability  is  its  first  quality. 

Imitation  of  nature  in  art  may  be  examined  from 
another  standpoint.  Art  is  a  species  of  creation,  which 
creation  we  must  learn  from  nature ;  and  when  we  have 
learned  it,  we  must  diligently  apply  what  we  know. 
Nature's  organisms  are  the  result  of  environment. 
Elementary  substances  aggregate  into  organic  forms, 
whenever  these  substances  suffice  for  the  renewal  of 
an  animal  or  vegetable  oi'ganism.  Conditions  of  rela- 
tion are  maintained  by  the  functions  of  assimilation,  of 
elementary  matter,  and  of  reproduction  of  kind.  Ee- 
production  and  assimilation  are  carried  on  by  special 
organs  provided  for  that  purpose,  and  organs  of  motion 
are  supplied  to  reach  the  elementary  matter  needed 
for  renewal.  All  this  is  accomplished  with  an  outlay 
of  matter  just  sufficient  for  the  purpose:  there  is 
nothing  superfluous,  and  no  deficiency  ;  the  economical 
employment  of  all  the  matter  used  and  brought  into 
action,  determines  the  form  of  the  organism.  It  is  not 
surprising,  therefore,  that  an  organism  determined  by 
environment,  continuing  under  the  conditions  of  the 
same  environment,  and  free  from  superfluous  matter, 
not  needed  for  the  purposes  of  continuance,  or  in  places 


170 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


where  continuance  is  not  furthered,  should  be  possessed 
of  a  form  indicating  everywhere  the  nature  of  func- 
tion, and  hence  should  be  possessed  of  the  quality 
of  expression  in  an  eminent  degree. 

To  imitate  nature  in  art,  therefore,  cannot  mean 
merely  to  imitate  her  created  forms,  unless  that  is  the 
special  problem  of  the  work  of  art ;  but  to  apply  to 
art  the  laws  by  which  nature's  forms  are  created, — • 
and  this  means,  to  study  the  environments  of  the  thing 
to  be  created,  to  supply  matter  to  meet  these  environ- 
ments not  only  with  sufficiency  (in  abundance  perhaps), 
but  in  the  right  place,  in  order  that  the  aggregation  of 
matter,  when  the  organism  is  completed,  shall  not  only 
perform  its  physical  and  ideal  functions,  but  shall  by 
its  form  everywhere  tell  the  story  of  these  functions, 
and  demonstrate  its  efficacy  to  perform  them. 

The  painter,  the  sculptor,  the  poet,  and  the  actor, 
as  a  rule,  seek  for  models  in  nature.  At  the  same  time 
it  must  be  observed  that  the  poet  does  not  present  his 
heroes  in  the  form  in  which  he  finds  them  in  nature, 
but  portrays  ideas  of  them  in  words.  Words  are  a 
method  of  natural  expression,  but  poetical  word-paint- 
ing varies  so  widely  from  common  expression  in  speech, 
and  in  this  direction  so  far  excels  nature's  models,  that 
we  must  recognize  in  it  a  new  form  of  art  expression, 
not  directly  found  in  nature  but  growing  out  of  nature's 
principles.  Speech  depicts  matter  through  description 
and  definition,  which  involves  an  analytic  and  syn- 
thetic examination  of  matter.  Poetry  uses  words 
to  depict  the  forms  of  matter  under  the  influence  of 
emotions,  and  permits  us  directly  to  perceive  these 
emotions.  Poetry,  moreover,  uses  impassioned  lan- 
guage: which,  by  reason  of  its  earnestness,  becomes 


THE  IDEAL  AND  IMITATION,  171 


metrical,  a  method  of  wliicli  we  find  indications  in 
human  intercourse ;  but  which,  in  poetry,  transcends 
the  limits  of  lingual  expression.  When,  however,  we 
contemplate  the  arts  of  architecture,  music,  and  danc- 
ing, we  find  no  model  in  nature  which  they  directly 
imitate.  It  is  true  that  among  the  children  of  the  for- 
est, persons  living  as  it  were  with  nature,  like  the 
peasant  and  the  sailor,  we  find  the  outgrowth  of  na- 
tive impulses  in  a  species  of  dance,  expressive  of  cer- 
tain emotions ;  but  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  ballet  is 
an  imitation  of  these  forms.  On  the  contrary,  though 
it  imitates  the  principles  involved,  it  exceeds  the  ideas 
and  methods  in  the  same  degree  which  obtains  in  the 
case  of  poetry.  The  ideas  represented,  and  the  forms 
used  in  the  ballet,  are  of  an  order  far  higher  than  those 
to  be  found  in  nature.    This  is  also  the  case  in  music. 

Architecture  absolutely  finds  in  nature  no  forms 
whatever  which  it  can  directly  imitate.  This  is  gen- 
erally admitted,  and  has  been  discussed  abundantly. 
But  it  needs  to  be  mentioned  here,  that  while  the  sub- 
ordinate parts  of  architectural  forms,  and  the  archi- 
tectural decoration  of  surfaces  are  composed  of  forms 
borrowed  from  the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms, 
whenever  this  borrowing  is  done,  modifications  of  the 
natural  form  become  necessary  for  two  reasons.  1st. 
These  animals  and  vegetables  are  called  upon  to  per- 
form functions,  which  they  never  performed  in  their 
natural  condition ;  and,  2d,  they  are  translated  into  a 
material  (stone  or  metal),  which  is  not  the  material  of 
which  nature  formed  them  originally.  The  question 
must  be  answered :  "If  nature  attempted  to  produce  a 
leaf  which  should  be  stony  iij  its  aspect,  and  per- 
form mechanical  work,  how  should  its  actual  form  be 


172       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


modified  to  express  both  the  function  and  the  mate- 
rial?" This  process,  of  modifying  the  character  of 
natural  objects,  in  form  and  in  color,  in  order  to  adapt 
them  to  new  material  and  new  functions,  is  called  con- 
ventionalizing natural  forms,  and  unless  natural  forms 
are  so  conventionalized,  they  cannot  be  admitted  as 
productions  of  fine  art. 

The  application  of  the  principle  of  imitation  to 
architectural  art,  so  far  as  the  arrangement  of  mon- 
umental masses  and  their  functions  is  concerned,  must 
be  confined  entirely  to  the  observation  of  nature's  me- 
chanical laws.  These  alone  must  form  the  basis  of 
architectural  imitation  of  nature ;  and  without  them 
imitation  becomes  impossible,  and  architecture  ceases 
to  be  a  fine  art. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


SCIENCE    AND  AET. 

Knowledge  is  the  echo  of  the  questions  asked  of 
nature.  To  formulate  the  question  is  to  create  the 
germ  of  the  answer.  The  answer  is  wise  or  the  reverse, 
true  or  false,  in  accord  with  the  question  asked.  It  is 
not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the  questioner  is  content 
with  the  answer  received. 

Heat,  electricity,  light,  magnetism,  attraction,  chem- 
ical affinity,  cohesion,  are  names  shaped  into  responsive 
formulae,  which,  so  long  as  they  fail  to  define  tangible 
material  conditions,  add  of  themselves  nothing  to  our 
intelligence.  Jupiter,  Vulcan,  Diana,  Venus,  are  simi- 
lar echoes  of  metaphysical  questions.  These  gods 
embody  causes  and  forces  which  are  not  referable  to 
human  or  other  material  agency,  and  are  formulated 
in  human  forms  endowed  with  recognized  but  untrace- 
able energy  of  force.  Force,  so  far  as  it  is  known  to 
man,  must  be  defined  as  an  unexplained  condition  of 
^natter. 

When  a  phenomenon  can  be  traced  to  another  phe- 
nomenon preceding  it,  the  latter  is  termed  a  cause, 
and  the  former  an  effect.  The  nebular  theory  of 
Laplace  will  continue  to  command  scientific  attention 
as  long  as  strong  reasons  in  its  favor  are  observed  to 

exist,  and  its  absolute  truth  is  7iot  firmly  established. 
173 


174       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


Let  this  be  once  done,  and  the  human  mind  will  revert 
immediately  to  the  probable  condition  of  matter  pre- 
ceding its  gaseous  state.  Cause,  as  far  as  known  to 
us,  means  a  preceding  phenomenon,  and  nothing  more. 
That  we  have  no  knowledge  whatever  of  abstract 
force  or  cause  has  become  a  scientific  axiom  recognized 
by  all. 

Current  discussion  is  concerned  with  unseen  intelli- 
gences, such,  for  instance,  as  the  human  will,  which  is 
believed  to  be  an  immaterial  cause  of  material  phe- 
nomena. This  means,  in  other  words,  that  abstract 
force  disconnected  from  matter  may  exist  independ- 
ently of  it,  and  may  endow  it  with  motion.  Accord- 
ing to  the  law  of  continuity,  this  leads  to  the  con- 
clusion that  matter  in  motion  acting  upon  nothing 
whatever,  may  at  the  expense  of  its  own  motion 
endow  this  nothing  with  latent  motive  force  to  be 
expended  upon  other  matter  at  a  convenient  time ;  or 
perhaps  that  foot  pounds  may  exist  independent  of 
matter.  On  the  other  hand,  it  has  been  demonstrated 
that  physical  action  is  itself  an  expenditure  of  mate- 
rial motion  equal  in  quantity  to  the  motion  of  the 
matter  involved  in  work  done,  and  that  the  will,  there- 
fore, is  nothing  more  than  a  directing  agency,  and  not 
itself  a  force.  The  human  will  may  direct  muscular 
force  to  the  end  that  it  may  build  a  steam  engine,  or 
to  the  end  that  it  may  break  into  useless  fragments 
another  steam  engine  already  built.  This  choice  of 
action  is  the  faculty  known  as  will.  The  question 
may  be  asked,  then.  Is  the  will  a  directive  force  or  an 
intermediate  link  between  material  phenomena?  The 
motive  for  manufacturing  an  engine  is  directly  trace- 
able to  a  desire  to  maintain  or  advance  the  interests  of 


SCIENCE  AND  ART, 


175 


human  life.  To  destroy  a  steam  engine  is  an  indirect 
method  of  shortening  human  life  ;  the  former  act  is 
rewarded  by  society  with  a  draft  upon  human  re- 
sources, the  latter  with  the  punishment  of  a  corre- 
sponding loss.  Human  will,  therefore,  is  an  interme- 
diate condition  between  an  expenditure  of  muscular 
force,  and  a  renewal  of  the  same  ;  in  fact,  nothing 
more  than  a  relation  of  matter  and  its  motion  in  the 
form  of  a  perception,  and  is,  therefore,  an  idea  similar 
to  that  of  a  mathematical  fulcrum  of  two  bodies  re- 
volving around  each  other  in  space,  a  point  without 
either  substance  or  motion,  neither  an  effect  nor  a 
cause.  Will  is  the  resultant  of  present  appetites  and 
future  necessities,  of  personal  desires  and  social  needs : 
it  is  the  center  of  equilibrium  of  many  forces,  but  is 
itself  not  a  force.  The  question  will  be  asked,  if  the 
will  is  no  factor  in  human  action  what  is  the  cause  of 
human  success  and  adversity  ?  The  answer  is,  that 
this  may  be  found  in  a  well  or  ill-balanced  brain  and 
perceptive  ability  of  the  senses ;  or,  in  other  words,  in 
physical  condition  as  determined  by  the  environment 
of  previous  generations  and  personal  training.  The 
man  who  gorges  to  satiety,  and  who  drowns  his  senses 
in  wine,  has  a  will  in  which  physical  appetite  predomi- 
nates over  future  necessities,  for  the  reason  that  the 
latter  are  not  as  tangible  to  his  perceptive  faculties 
as  the  former.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  will 
is  an  idea,  a  rapid  conclusion  regarding  a  complicated 
relation  of  matter,  which  relation  becomes  obscure  to 
an  ill-trained  mind  in  the  degree  of  remoteness  of 
interest,  and  not  in  the  degree  of  apparent  relative 
importance. 

Interests  of  the  human  race,  of  the  State,  of  the 


176 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


community  and  the  family  are  of  paramount  impor- 
tance to  the  individual  compared  with  those  interests 
which  directly  affect  the  momentary  well-being  of  his 
person.  Interests  pertaining  to  the  future  are  of  the 
same  and  often  of  greater  value  than  those  which 
concern  the  present.  But  the  perceptive  faculties  of 
men  are  dulled  to  a  proper  appreciation  of  their  im- 
portance :  hence  society  has  been  ever  busy  in  intro- 
ducing artificial  conditions  which  are  interposed  be- 
tween seemingly  remote  human  interests  and  the 
immediate  perception  of  them.  These  are  social 
regard  or  contempt,  distinction  or  degradation,  by 
way  of  reward  or  punishment,  and  such  teaching  as 
can  be  conveyed  to  man  by  depicting  human  relations, 
by  art.  All  these  furnish  to  the  individual  such  intel- 
lectual help  as  he  is  capable  of  utilizing. 

An  impending  blow  is  promptly  perceptible  to  the 
dullest  comprehension,  and  the  will  of  the  most  obtuse 
acts  with  alacrity  to  ward  it  off ;  or,  in  other  words, 
the  sensuous  perception  of  an  immediate  physical 
injury  is  followed  by  a  physical  act  to  avert  it,  and 
the  point  of  intersection  of  two  conditions  of  matter 
which  must  result  in  personal  injury  is  here  termed 
human  will.  To  give  a  blow  to  another  must  ulti- 
mately result  in  personal  suffering  to  the  aggressor; 
but  this  fact  is  not  so  apparent,  and  needs  elucidation 
by  way  of  preventive.  Fear  of  the  punishment  im- 
posed by  the  law,  and  of  the  contempt  of  his  fellow 
man,  serves  the  purpose  of  such  elucidation.  To  control 
passion,  however,  man  needs  training,  and  this  training 
is  to  be  found  only  in  philosophy  and  art,  and  for  the 
majority  of  men  only  in  the  latter. 

Philosophy  deals  with  the  why  and  wherefore,  the  law 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


Ill 


whicli  governs  phenomena.  Art  deals  witli  human  ideas, 
which  it  represents  in  matter.  Human  ideas  comprise 
answers  more  or  less  complete  to  all  questions  asked 
by  man.  The  mathematician  admits  unknown  quanti- 
ties, as  X  and  y,  in  his  computation, without  an  immediate 
inquiry  into  their  nature.  When  his  equation  is  finally 
solved,  the  exact  value  of  x  and  y  will  doubtless  appear ; 
but  in  the  meantime  they  are  admissible  elements  of  a 
mathematical  argument.  Metaphysical  ideas  are  often 
relations  of  x  and  y,  or  powers  of  known  quantities, 
which  must  needs  serve  the  human  understanding  in 
this  form,  to  be  solved  or  not  hereafter,  as  the  case 
may  be.  In  the  meantime,  instead  of  mathematical 
notations,  they  are  formulated  in  pictures  of  material 
relations,  wherein,  perhaps,  the  nature  of  the  matter 
forming  the  relation,  or  the  relation  itself,  or  both,  are 
unknown  quantities.  It  is  a  gain,  however,  to  know 
that  a  relation  of  something  does  exist ;  and  even  if  it 
should  finally  prove  to  be  true,  that  neither  the  matter 
nor  the  relation  is  a  fathomable  quantity,  or  that  one 
or  the  other  of  them  has  no  existence  in  fact,  this 
knowledge  in  the  meantime  serves  the  purpose  of  an 
intellectual  crutch  to  the  man  who  imagines  that  he 
needs  one  to  walk  faster  than  he  could  by  the  mere 
use  of  his  legs. 

It  is  the  problem  of  science  to  simplify  laws,  to 
search  for  those  laws  which  have  the  most  universal 
application,  to  show  the  relation  of  different  laws,  to 
make  reference  to  law  practicable  and  easy.  It  is  the 
province  of  art  to  multiply  forms,  and  to  surround  men 
with  their  influence.  Science  helps  man  to  think  cor- 
rectly ;  art  attempts  to  spare  him  the  trouble  of  think- 
ing, by  presenting  to  him  thought  embodied  in  material 


178       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


representation.  Science  is  the  intellectual  capital  wHcli 
enables  man  to  live  mentally  on  tlie  accruing  interest ; 
art  is  the  accumulated  interest  of  ideal  and  technical 
knowledge  to  be  enjoyed  by  the  masses  at  every  step 
of  their  lives.  Science  models  the  human  brain  into 
a  well  defined  serviceable  mental  tool.  Art  environs 
that  same  brain  with  a  series  of  pictures  which  are 
intended  to  occupy  it  to  the  exclusion  of  its  own  im- 
potent working.  Science  and  art  are  both  intent  upon 
securing  the  welfare  of  man,  and  enabling  him  to  live 
long  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Those  who  practice 
science  and  art  live  together  in  peace  and  mutual  re- 
spect. Each  recognizes  the  value  of  the  efforts  of  the 
other,  and  both  are  too  busy  in  their  own  way  of  serv- 
ing mankind,  to  spend  much  time  in  considering  which 
method  is  the  more  beneficial;  and  whenever  such  an 
inquiry  is  instituted  by  either  party,  it  results  in  the 
conclusion  that  science  and  art  are  equally  necessary  to 
man.*  It  cannot  be  said  that  the  community  at  large 
entertains  opinions  materially  differing  from  these :  at 
least  it  is  not  often  that  such  opinions  find  expression 
in  words.  But  the  acts  of  men  certainly  do  not  point 
to  a  universal  understanding  of  the  nature  and  func- 
tion of  both  science  and  art,  and  more  especially  of  the 
latter.  The  lack  of  this  understanding  often  results 
in  controversies,  which  at  one  time  were  very  detri- 
mental to  human  interests,  but  which  at  the  present 
time,  fortunately,  are  only  curious  and  interesting. 
Eeligion,  for  instance,  has  heretofore  been  considered 
a  simple  faith ;  a  belief  in  certain  ideas  which  it  de- 
monstrates by  means  of  aii;.    At  the  present  time  re- 


*  See  Helmholz  on  Classical  Education,  for  instance. 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


179 


ligion  seems  to  doubt  the  efficacy  of  art,  and  to  combat 
tlie  potency  of  science.  She  has  ceased  to  paint  pic- 
tures which  may  effectually  illustrate  ideas  which 
cannot  be  philosophically  defended,  in  the  slender 
hope  that  her  truths  must  be  capable  of  scientific  de- 
monstration, simply  because  they  are  truths. 

Science  devotes  itseK  to  the  contemplation  of  mat- 
ter and  its  motion,  ignoring  all  outside  of  this  as  ille- 
gitimate subjects  for  scientific  inquiry.  Science  justly 
claims,  to  a  limited  extent,  a  positive  knowledge  of  tlie 
nature  of  matter.  It  further  disclaims  positive  knowl- 
edge of  all  else.  This  cannot  be  construed  to  be  ma- 
terialism, in  the  sense  in  which  that  term  is  offensive 
to  religious  minds ;  yet  it  is  not  surprising  that  the 
enunciation  in  rapid  succession,  of  new  qualities  and 
changes  inherent  in  matter,  seems,  in  our  time,  to  pious 
minds,  to  exclude  the  Creator  from  his  creation,  and  to 
limit  the  boundaries  of  the  continued  directive  influence 
of  a  personal  God.  It  is  not  the  place  here  to  discuss 
the  question,  whether  this  anxiety  is  well-founded  or 
not ;  but  it  is  in  the  interest  of  art  to  question,  whether 
the  course  pursued  in  the  so-called  defence  of  religion  by 
certain  modern  militant  churchmen,  which  attempts 
a  scientific  refutation  of  an  imagined  scientific  attack 
contains,  within  itself,  the  promise  of  success.  The 
old  argument,  that  everything  that  is  has  a  cause,  and 
that,  hence,  there  must  be  a  first  cause,  and,  that  this 
first  cause  is  God,  is  clad  in  scientific  terms,  and  re- 
pursued  with  all  the  surroundings  of  a  new  geological 
inquiry.  If  we  should  find,  they  tell  us,  for  instance, 
in  some  strata,  a  series  of  metallic  globules  which,  by 
their  uniformity,  preclude  the  theory  of  their  being  a 
natural  product,  we  should  conclude  these  globules  to 


180       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 

have  been  made  by  human  hands,  we  should  take 
them  to  be  the  result  of  an  intelligent  premeditation, 
to  be  shot,  in  fact ;  and  we  should  insist  upon  it,  that 
the  presence  of  this  shot  in  a  deposit  of  nature  indi- 
cates the  presence  of  man  :  a  directing  intelligence ; 
hence  the  law  and  order  of  creation  indicate,  with  equal 
force,  the  existence  of  a  creator  of  all  things.  Unfor- 
tunately for  this  argument  and  its  conclusion,  it  par- 
takes of  all  the  weakness  of  human  answers  to  human 
questions,  and  has  very  little  of  their  strength.  It  is 
the  mere  echo  of  a  question  not  carefully  formulated. 

Is  there  a  first  cause  ?  This  is  the  question.  Every- 
thing has  a  cause  is  the  argument ;  and  hence  all  things 
must  have  a  cause,  is  the  conclusion.  Preceding  phe- 
nomena are  here  rashly  accepted  as  a  cause.  But  cause 
and  effect,  wherever  we  find  them  in  nature,  are  but 
two  links  of  a  chain,  the  succeeding  and  preceding 
links  of  which  are,  in  most  cases,  well  known,  and  have 
in  many  been  traced  to  a  connection  between  the  two 
ends  of  this  chain.  It  is,  in  fact,  an  endless  chain  of 
no  very  great  length ;  and  where  at  times  its  continuity 
becomes  obscure,  there  is  yet  good  reason  to  believe 
that  such  a  continuity  exists.  Hence  we  really  know 
nothing  of  ultimate  cause,  and  cannot  make  such  a 
knowledge  the  basis  of  an  argument. 

Man  may  change  the  form,  motion,  and  relation  of 
matter  within  the  limits  of  natural  laws.  These 
changes  and  relations  are  always  temporary  and  im- 
perfect. Man  cannot  create  matter,  nor  can  he  endow 
it  with  motion.  Creation,  as  attributed  to  the  Deity, 
refers  to  the  very  existence  of  matter,  and  the  perpet- 
ual laws  of  its  motion.  No  sound  conclusions  can  be 
drawn  from  the  one  to  the  other.    The  knowledge  of 


SCIENCE  AND  ART, 


181 


the  universe,  as  attainable  by  man  from  his  limited 
standpoint  in  nature,  is  insufficient  to  permit  anything 
more  than  a  conception  that  his  own  understanding  of 
what  is,  must  be  but  an  insignificant  part  of  an  in- 
comprehensible system  and  purpose,  the  nature  of 
which  cannot  be  approached  by  the  contemplation  of 
probabilities  contained  in  the  infinite  series  of  possi- 
bilities which  surround  the  subject. 

When  we  consider  the  difficulties  which  beset  per- 
ception of  known  material  magnitudes  whenever  they 
exceed  insignificant  limits,  such,  for  instance,  as  a  mil- 
lion of  miles  or  a  million  of  diameters  of  the  earth's 
orbit,  or  the  ratio  of  the  two,  it  must  be  ajDparent  that 
no  conclusion  whatever,  that  is  worthy  of  that  name, 
can  be  drawn  from  human  intelligence,  which  may  be 
accepted  as  the  foreshadowing  of  the  divine  intelli- 
gence. The  belief  in  the  existence  of  God  is  the  intel- 
lectual equivalent  of  a  knowledge  that  the  mental 
capacity  of  man  is  limited.  That  the  sum  of  knowledge, 
which  forms  the  basis  and  purpose  of  law,  represents 
the  essence  of  power,  is  a  logical  conclusion  warranted 
by  the  knoAvn  limitations  of  human  knowledge.  Thus 
far  and  no  farther  reason  permits  us  to  pursue  the 
subject.  Beyond  this  we  enter  a  field  of  conjecture, 
approximation  and  elimination  of  error. 

Theology  distinguishes  three  possible  theories  of  the 
nature  of  the  supreme  intelligence — Theism,  atheism, 
and  pantheism ;  whereof  the  first  determines  this  su- 
preme intelligence  to  be  the  Creator  of  the  universe, 
and  to  exist  outside  of  and  distinct  from  it ;  the  second 
that  it  is  the  universe  itself,  which  has  always  existed ; 
and  the  third  that  it  is  an  intelligent  substance,  not  a 
personality,  co-existent  and  developing  with  the  uni- 


182       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


verse,  and  becoming  conscious  in  intelligent  beings. 
It  is  impossible  to  apprehend  how  conditions  of  time, 
space,  and  matter  can  be  correlated  with  the  supreme 
intelligence,  which  is  necessarily  attempted  in  either 
of  these  three  theories.  It  follows,  therefore,  that 
these  schemes  must  be  ranged  with  systems  of  faith 
which  prescribe  definitions  of  God  in  accord  with  that 
human  comprehension  which  has  its  being,  education, 
and  development  solely  in  the  contemplation  of  matter 
and  its  properties,  and  in  the  relations  of  time  and 
space.  That  these  religious  definitions  are  a  human 
necessity  may  be  inferred  from  the  condition  of  the 
human  mind  which  demands  the  identification  of  a 
principle  with  a  personality  before  it  can  accept  a 
relation  with  it,  and  farther  from  the  fact  that  such 
definitions  have  existed  always  and  everywhere.  Jove, 
the  god  of  the  Greeks,  was  primarily  the  thunderer. 
Vulcan  forged  his  bolts.  This  attribute  of  physical 
power  was  at  one  time  sufficient  to  establish  Jupiter 
as  the  King  of  Olympus.  The  Jehovah  of  the  Jews  is 
defined  as  the  God  who  visits  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  children.  Christianity  teaches  a  God  of  love 
who  exacts  faith  and  obedience  as  the  condition  of 
eternal  happiness.  Modern  science,  as  far  as  it  has 
intimated  an  opinion  on  this  subject,  tends  to  the 
belief  that  God  is  law. 

Who  can  say  that  either  of  these  definitions,  from 
the  most  primitive  to  the  latest,  is  untrue  ?  And  then, 
again,  who  will  be  bold  enough  to  assert  that  either  of 
them  exhausts  the  idea  of  the  Supreme  Being?  A 
moment's  consideration  will  show  that  all  are  based 
upon  the  theory  that  the  final  purpose  of  existence  is 
confined  to  the  well-being  of  man,  the  inhabitant  of 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


183 


this  little  planet;  for  altliougli  a  God  of  law  as  fore- 
shadowed by  modern  philosophy  takes  cognizance  of 
all  things,  and  comprehends  within  himself  the  direc- 
tion of  the  .  whole  universe,  which  includes  its  most 
insignificant  part,  yet  how  insufficient  must  be  the 
thought  of  an  eternal  and  unerring  law  unless  com- 
bined with  it  we  can  comprehend,  or  at  least  suggest,  a 
comprehensive  scheme  of  the  purpose  of  this  law.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  we  are  content  to  know  of  God  only 
so  much  as  concerns  our  relation  with  him,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  Jove  the  thunderer  was  as  perfect  a 
god  for  the  primitive  Greek  as  the  God  of  love  is  for 
the  modern  Christian,  and  the  God  of  law  for  the 
philosopher  of  the  nineteenth  century.  But  whatever 
our  conception  of  God,  our  relation  to  Him,  and  our 
relation  to  each  other  and  to  all  things  in  obedience  to 
fundamental  law,  our  definition  of  all  these  relations 
must  be  material  and  approximative,  not  absolute,  not 
positive.  We  must  leave  philosophy  behind  us,  and 
enter  upon  the  realms  of  art. 

Art  is  knowledge,  the  knowledge  of  material  relations 
which  may  be  made  to  picture  all  ideas  which  present 
themselves  to  the  human  mind  as  possible  or  probable 
relations.  The  sceptic  imagines  he  may  consign  all 
these  pictures  to  oblivion  by  the  simple  question,  "  Are 
these  works  of  art  pictures  of  true  relations  ? "  If  they 
are  not  pictures  of  true  relations,  he  asserts  that  then 
they  are  false,  and  must  be  condemned.  All  things 
which  are  proven  to  be  true,  must  surely  be  accepted 
as  true;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  all  things  not 
proven  to  be  true  can  for  that  reason  alone  be  pro- 
nounced to  be  false.  Art  often  conveys  knowledge 
which  has  not  passed  the  ordeal  of  logical  demonstra- 


184       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 


tion ;  but  it  is  knowledge  all  the  same  to  this  extent,  that 
it  may  be  true  beyond  a  certain  limit,  up  to  which  it  has 
been  proven  to  be  false.  If  art  persists  in  transcending 
that  limit,  it  is  justly  assailable ;  but  within  that  limit 
it  performs  a  function  for  which  no  substitute  can  be 
found.  And  more  than  this,  an  idea  depicted  by  art, 
which  is  recognized  to  be  false  in  fact,  still  continues 
to  possess  a  moral  and  cultivating  influence,  by  reason 
of  the  piety  of  the  thought  contained  in  it. 

The  errors  of  those  who  theorize  upon  art  are  the 
assumption  that  such  of  her  illustrations  of  ideas  as 
have  once  been  accepted  as  true  must  continue  to  be 
so  accepted  always,  in  spite  of  valid  demonstrations  to 
the  contrary,  and  the  assumption  that  art  is  a  source 
of  pleasure  mainly,  and  only  incidentally  a  source  of 
knowledge. 

We  cannot  imagine  mental  degradation  so  low,  nor 
mental  cultivation  so  high,  as  to  reject  knowledge, 
when  it  can  be  acquired  without  labor,  or  because  it 
can  be  so  acquired.  Men  may,  by  training,  attain  to 
a  distaste  for  all  mental  productions  which  do  not,  in 
the  most  direct  and  concise  manner,  demonstrate  posi- 
tive facts ;  yet  these  very  men  love  poetry,  the  drama, 
painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  for  the  truth  they 
reveal  of  nature,  in  a  scheme  which  is  admitted  to  be 
fictitious,  often.  The  most  erudite  will  peruse  the 
pictures  and  illustrations  of  a  book,  for  the  information 
condensed  in  picture  language,  before  he  proceeds  to 
read  it ;  and  more  historic  facts  have  been  gleaned  from 
the  epics,  the  statues  and  the  architecture  of  the  past, 
than  from  the  state  papers  and  inscriptions  contempo- 
rary with  them. 

Whatever  perfection  the  progress  of  science  may 


SCIENCE  AND  ART 


185 


attain  hereafter,  human  relations  to  the  universe  can 
and  will  be  taught  by  art  only.  Jurisprudence  can  at 
best  be  but  a  compromise  of  human  interests,  while 
abstract  virtue  is  inculcated  by  the  efforts  of  art  alone. 
Eeligion  paints  pictures  of  God  and  of  our  relations 
to  Him,  in  words,  in  music,  sculpture,  painting  and 
architecture  :  and  there  is  no  good  reason  to  doubt  the 
biblical  statement  that  David  also  danced  before  the 
Ark.  The  state  commands  the  devotion,  the  patriotism, 
the  service  of  the  citizen,  by  a  poetical  appeal  to  his 
affections,  more  than  by  the  ties  of  material  interests. 
Love  and  filial  affection,  friendship,  gratitude,  benevo- 
lence, and  charity  are  fostered  mainly  by  art.  All  these 
virtues  have  been  pictured  in  poem,  song,  and  paint- 
ing, and  are  known  and  appreciated  from  these  sources 
above  all  others. 

When  we  speak  of  works  of  art,  we  are  apt  to  refer 
to  painting  and  sculpture  alone ;  we  think  lightly  of 
the  ideas  conveyed  by  these,  and  undervalue  the 
knowledge  of  art  accordingly.  This  is  owing  to  the 
fact  that  paintings  and  sculptures  are  rare,  and  not 
readily  accessible ;  also,  that  an  advanced  mental  culti- 
vation is  needed  to  understand  their  full  value.  But 
when  we  consider  the  mighty  influence  of  literature, 
music,  and  architecture,  an  influence  which  surrounds 
man  continually,  and  which  implants  in  his  heart  by 
constant  attrition,  as  it  were,  sentiments  of  morality 
and  virtue,  the  import  of  which  his  brain  could  never 
comprehend ;  when  we  consider  that  with  the  millions 
who  read,  and  see,  and  hear  art,  and  learn  from  it  les- 
sons of  wisdom  and  goodness,  with  no  other  motive 
than  to  amuse  themselves,  to  enjoy  the  success  of 
human  re-creation  of  nature;  a  mental  and  technical 


186       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


feat,  a  picture,  a  story  of  a  fictitious  reality,  or  of  a 
reality  of  tlie  past  reproduced ;  when  we  consider  the 
impotence  of  the  cumbrous  machinery  of  human  laws, 
the  inefficacy  of  punishment  and  reward,  and  of  the 
reasoning  of  philosophy,  as  compared  with  the  human- 
izing influence  of  art,  we  must  come  to  the  conclusion, 
that  as  far  as  the  mass  of  mankind  is  concerned,  art  is 
the  sole  source  of  ethic  cultivation ;  that  it  is  a  necessity 
for  the  maintenance  of  society — a  school  which  sup- 
plies the  knowledge  man  needs  in  order  to  live. 

It  is  true  that  we  do  not  seek  art  for  the  knowledge 
it  imparts,  but  for  the  pleasurable  emotion  excited  by 
the  contemplation  of  it ;  and  it  is  imagined  by  super- 
ficial observers,  that  this  pleasurable  emotion  is  the 
sole  outcome  of  art.  The  conditions  of  this  pleasur- 
able emotion  are,  however,  first  that  an  idea  shall  be 
expressed  in  matter ;  and,  next,  that  it  shall  be  well 
expressed.  Unless  an  idea  is  expressed,  there  is  no 
pleasurable  emotion. 

The  successful  expression  of  an  idea  in  matter  de- 
termines the  beauty  of  a  work  of  art ;  but  in  order  to 
understand  how  beauty  is  the  cause  of  pleasurable  emo- 
tion, it  is  not  sufficient  to  consider  the  nature  of  beauty 
alone,  but  also  its  cause  in  art.  The  nature  of  beauty 
is  to  be  found  in  the  successful  expression  of  an  idea 
in  matter.  The  idea  itself  may  be  the  reverse  of 
beautiful,  or  true,  or  moral.  The  objects  selected 
for  the  purpose  of  representing  the  idea  may  be 
ugly ;  yet  the  result  of  all  this  is  beauty,  if  the  idea  is 
successfully  represented.  Objective  beauty  consists 
in  the  capacity  of  an  organism  to  perform  a  function, 
and  in  the  clear  expression  of  this  capacity  in  its  form ; 
and  beauty  in  ait  in  the  rendering  of  this  form  in 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


187 


matter  for  the  purpose  of  expressing  the  function,  the 
function  being  the  expression  of  an  idea  either  directly 
or  indirectly,  by  betraying  an  emotion  which  has  found 
a  material  expression  in  a  physical  modification  of  the 
organism.  It  must  be  clear  that  the  subjective  per- 
ception of  a  work  of  art  deals  simultaneously  with  its 
beauty,  that  is,  the  objective  functional  expression 
of  an  idea,  and  the  art  force  which  has  successfully 
represented  this  idea  in  matter.  This  art  force,  which 
consists  in  the  mental  and  technical  skill  of  the  artist, 
and  is  the  cause  of  objective  beauty  in  art,  is  also  the 
cause  of  the  pleasurable  emotion,  and  is  perceived  by 
the  subject  simultaneously  with  the  beauty  of  a  work 
of  nature  or  fine  art.  But,  inasmuch  as  the  beauty  of 
a  work  of  art  is  not  lessened  by  the  ugliness  of  the 
organism  represented,  provided  always  this  ugliness  is 
premeditated,  it  follows  that  the  term  beauty,  when 
applied  to  a  work  of  fine  art,  refers  to  the  magnitude 
of  art  force  displayed  only  as  perceived  in  the  result, 
and  that  there  is  a  difference  between  it  and  abstract 
beauty  as  found  in  nature.  But  a  moment's  consider- 
ation of  the  subject  will  show  that  the  two  are  identi- 
cal in  this  sense,  that  both  pertain  to  organisms  which 
in  their  form  express  function  as  intended  by  the  force 
creating  them.  When  the  artist  in  his  re-creation  of 
nature  intends  to  represent  a  thing  or  an  organism 
which  is  ugly,  that  is,  which  does  not  by  its  form  be- 
tray the  due  performance  of  functions,  then  this  in- 
tention, contemplating  a  peculiar  organism  of  negative 
functional  qualities,  constitutes  the  creation  of  a  stand- 
ard of  function  upon  which  the  art  work  is  to  be  based 
and  the  successful  representation  in  matter  of  organ- 
isms  which  respond  to  this  intention,  betray  art  force, 


188 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


and  hence  result  in  beauty.  For  instance,  let  the  idea 
to  be  represented  be  charity.  Gossip  is  a  negative  act, 
which  may  be  selected  to  illustrate  charity.  The 
painter  may  depict  gossip  by  a  group  of  ugly,  ragged 
persons  sitting  by  the  roadside,  or  standing  around 
the  gateway  of  a  barnyard  discussing  their  neighbors. 
Here  we  have  ugly  subjects,  ugly  surroundings,  an 
immoral  practice.  Yet  if  the  artist  succeeds  in  ex- 
pressing in  his  group  the  ill-feeling,  jealousy,  and  mal- 
ice of  gossip,  he  has  produced  a  work  of  beauty,  simply 
because  his  group  performs  the  functions  he  intended 
to  express,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  individuals 
composing  it  perform  the  functions  of  life  very  badly. 
It  is  even  so  in  nature.  We  may  discover  beauties  in 
deformities  of  her  creation  if  we  analyze  them,  simply 
because  of  abnormal  functions  detected,  which  are 
well  performed,  and  are  equally  well  expressed  in 
their  form. 

The  simple  definition  of  fine  art,  that  it  is,  the 
representation  of  an  idea  in  matter,"  contains  a  suffi- 
cient explanation  of  the  nature,  function,  and  scope 
of  it. 

First,  that  it  deals  with  ideas  (relations  of  matter), 
and  represents  these  ideas  in  the  form  in  which  they 
are  found  in  nature,  or  in  forms  which  are  the  result 
of  natural  laws.  It  does  not  demonstrate  or  define 
these  ideas,  but  represents  material  forms  in  action  or 
in  passive  submission  to  action,  which  illustrate  these 
ideas,  and  which  compel  emotion.  This  emotion  is 
depicted  by  art  as  a  physical  modification  of  matter. 

To  conceive  a  work  of  fine  art,  the  idea  to  be  de- 
picted must  first  be  materialized.  The  question  must 
be  answered :  how  is  some  organism  affected  by  this 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


189 


idea  ?  and  how  is  tlie  physical  form  of  this  organism 
modified  ?  This  organism  so  modified  must  then  be 
represented  in  matter.  This  means  that  we  are  not 
to  speak  of  the  idea;  Ave  are  not  to  define  or  to 
demonstrate  it :  but  we  are  to  paint  a  picture  of  the 
modified  condition  of  an  organism  affected  by  it.  If 
this  picture  is  painted  on  canvas  or  cut  in  stone,  we 
need  but  to  copy  the  modified  organism  as  it  presents 
itself  to  our  senses.  If  we  describe  it  in  words,  it 
must  again  be  a  painting,  a  sketch  of  physical  form 
and  of  a  material  expression.  If  the  organism  be  a 
person  who  speaks,  we  must  introduce  him  not  as  a 
lecturer  upon  the  subject  of  his  emotions  under  the 
influence  of  this  idea,  but  as  pursuing  the  tenor  of  his 
life,  and  betraying  in  his  conversation  the  nature  of 
this  emotion.  We  must  describe  him  as  he  looks,  and 
quote  him  as  he  talks,  and  through  his  looks  or  his 
talk  must  shine  the  emotions  to  which  he  is  subjected. 

If  music  is  the  medium  we  select  for  the  representa- 
tion of  an  idea,  we  must  utter  the  sounds  representing 
the  emotions  which  this  idea  would  cause  in  certain 
persons  under  certain  assumed  conditions. 

If  architecture  is  to  express  an  idea  in  a  structure, 
the  relation  of  this  structure  to  human  groups  must  be 
expressed  in  its  form,  and  the  emotions  of  these  groups 
must  be  impressed  upon  it  by  modelling,  decoration, 
and  color. 

An  idea  may  be  demonstrated  in  matter.  In  that 
case  it  is  not  necessary  to  enter  upon  acts  or  emotions, 
nor  is  it  necessary  that  this  idea  should  first  be  mate- 
rialized, or  in  any  way  attached  to  or  connected  with 
matter.  We  may  here  deal  with  quantities  discon- 
nected from  the  nature  of  their  entities;  we  may 


190       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


figure  these  quantities  as  lines  or  surfaces,  or  as  mere 
distances  of  points.  We  may  deal  with  organisms 
without  reference  to  their  form.  In  all  cases  demon- 
strations of  this  kind  are  of  a  scientific  nature,  and  are 
to  be  distinguished  from  a  representation  of  an  idea 
in  art  mainly  herein,  that  they  analyze  the  conditions, 
while  art  depicts  the  ultimate  results  of  relations  of 
matter.  These  ultimate  results  in  that  case  are  copies 
of  similar  results  heretofore  actually  observed. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  line  may  be  drawn  distinctly 
between  fine  art  and  mechanic  art.  Mechanic  art 
includes  all  human  productions  which  do  not  contem- 
plate the  expression  of  an  idea,  of  objects  not  found  in 
nature  but  which  are  needed  for  use.  Mechanic  art 
contemplates  form,  but  only  the  form  which  responds 
to  use:  hence  the  common  definition  that  works  of 
mechanic  art  are  those  which  are  necessary  to  man, 
and  works  of  fine  art  are  those  which  are  unnecessary. 
It  seems  but  a  waste  of  words  to  dwell  upon  the  fallacy 
of  the  latter  definition. 

The  nature  of  the  ideas  which  may  be  re23resented 
in  art  is,  in  one  sense,  limited  only  by  the  ideas  which 
can  be  demonstrated  by  science.  Art  of  necessity  oc- 
cupies itself  with  all  possible  ideas  which  have  not 
been  demonstrated.  It  depicts  them  in  the  condition 
of  progress  in  which  they  are  found.  A  sheet  hung 
upon  a  pole  may  answer  as  a  ghost ;  a  human  figure 
floating  in  a  surrounding  of  fleecy  clouds  is  a  better 
one.  The  existence  of  ghosts  may  be  doubted  in  the 
nineteenth  century  without  censure ;  yet  this  has  not 
always  been  so :  and  there  are  millions  of  persons  exist- 
ing now,  to  whose  moral  welfare  ghosts  are  a  necessity 
of  which  they  should  not  and  cannot  be  deprived. 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


191 


Besides,  the  ghost  is  the  pious  substitute  of  unknown 
force,  which  does  not  fail  of  its  salutary  artistic  effect 
upon  the  most  cultivated  audience. 

It  may  be  remarked  here  that  humanity,  up  to  this 
time,  at  least,  has  found  it  necessary  to  entertain  unde- 
veloped, incomplete,  and  improbable  ideas.  Not  even 
science  is  exempt  from  this  necessity.  These  ideas  are 
the  stepping  stones  to  progress.  The  planetary  system 
of  Tycho  Brahe,  the  vortices  of  Descartes,  and  New- 
ton's corpuscular  theory  of  light,  may  be  cited  as  in- 
stances of  the  kind.  "The  luminiferous  aether,"  says 
Young,  "  pervades  all  space,  and  penetrates  almost  all 
substances ;  it  is  highly  elastic  and  absolutely  solid." 
Herschel  estimates  its  pressure  at  seventeen  billions  of 
pounds  a  square  inch.  This  aether  may  be  described 
as  an  art  picture  of  an  unexplained  condition  of  mat- 
ter, by  reason  of  which  light  consumes  time  in  acting 
through  space ;  a  process  which  remains  incomprehen- 
sible without  the  presence  of  intermediate  matter,  and 
therefore  the  existence  of  the  aether  is  to-day  accepted 
by  scientific  men.  Science  has  discarded  similar  theo- 
ries with  tardiness,  because  they  perform  a  necessary 
function  in  servinoi;  as  a  nucleus  around  which  valuable 
scientific  facts  can  be  conveniently  ranged,  which  would 
otherwise  become  almost  valueless  by  reason  of  their 
isolation.  Scientific  men  profess  a  readiness  to  discard 
every  theory  of  this  kind  the  moment  it  is  disproved. 
Art  should  follow  this  example  by  elaborating  ideas 
in  their  progress,  instead  of  tenaciously  holding  to 
them  after  they  have  been  virtually  discarded.  That 
this  is  not  done  promptly,  however,  is  capable  of  an 
explanation,  not  discreditable  to  the  understanding  of 
artists  and  lovers  of  art,  viz.:  The  value  of  a  work  of 


192       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


art  is  less  dependent  upon  the  approximation  to  truth 
of  the  idea  which  it  depicts,  than  upon  the  skill  with 
which  the  idea  is  depicted. 

Science  investigates  matter  and  its  motions  for  the 
mere  sake  of  knowledge,  and  without  direct  reference 
to  human  interests ;  but  art  is  confined  to  ideas  per- 
taining to  actual  or  imagined  human  interests  and  re- 
lations. Hence  the  audience  of  art  includes  all  man- 
kind; that  of  science  is  limited.  Those  who  learn 
scientifically  are  especially  prepared  to  make  them- 
selves receptive ;  those  who  derive  their  knowledge 
from  art  are  mainly  unconscious  of  the  process  and 
uncertain  of  the  position  they  occupy  in  relation  to 
their  teacher.  Like  a  sponge  they  absorb,  and  with 
no  other  intent  than  to  enjoy  the  pleasurable  emotion 
23roduced  by  the  process.  The  knowledge  acquired 
from  art  is  always  seemingly  full  and  complete  to  the 
subject ;  no  doubt  remains  to  be  solved,  no  question  to 
be  asked.  This  begets  confidence  of  judgment;  the 
conviction  of  the  master  rather  than  that  of  the  student. 
This  condition  of  the  popular  mind  with  reference  to 
art,  is  not  without  a  reacting  influence  upon  art  and 
its  productions.  The  law  of  demand  and  supply  as- 
serts itself,  and  art  is  forced  to  create  what  gives  uni- 
versal pleasure,  and  not  what  conveys  the  most  needed 
ideas. 

Mechanic  art  as  well  as  fine  art  is  engaged  in  de- 
veloping expressive  forms  of  physical  functions,  Avith 
this  difference :  that  the  physical  functions  expressed 
in  fine  art  are  the  result  of  emotions,  and  hence  de- 
rived from  an  idea,  while  the  functions  expressed  in 
the  forms  of  mechanic  art  relate  simply  to  physical 
needs.    This  difference  is  not  clearly  understood,  and 


SCIENCE  AND  ART, 


193 


the  line  between  tlie  two  is  not  sharply  drawn.  There 
is  a  certain  beauty  to  be  found  in  mechanic  art,  which 
is  the  art  force  manifested  in  expressing  a  physical 
function.  From  the  complicated  weaving  or  knitting 
machine  down  to  an  axe-handle,  all  tools,  more  or  less, 
express  theii'  function.  This  expression  is  the  result 
of  a  study  of  the  nature  of  that  function,  and  of  the 
knowledge  of  the  natural  laws  which  enable  the  me- 
chanic to  respond  to  them,  and  of  the  technical  skill 
required  to  model  the  resulting  forms. 

Furniture,  clothing,  porcelain,  gold  and  silver  ware 
fall  into  this  category.  They  are  valued  commercially 
because  they  are  fitted  for  their  purpose,  but  more 
especially  because  they  express  that  purpose.  They 
are  not  created  to  express  ideas,  but  to  supply  human 
needs;  but  they  may  or  may  not  express  their  func- 
tion well,  and  are  valuable,  therefore,  in  the  ratio  in 
which  they  do,  and  their  beauty  and  ugliness  is  spoken 
of  as  an  important  element  of  value.  It  follows,  there- 
fore, that  mechanics  and  artisans  realize  the  fact  that 
they  must  create  objects  of  beauty,  in  order  to  find  a 
ready  sale  for  them.  Two  men  of  equal  mechanical 
skill  and  theoretical  knowledge  may  set  out  to  make  a 
chair.  Let  us  assume  that  one  of  them  has  never 
heard  of  the  word  beauty.  He  attempts  nothing  of  the 
kind,  but  contents  himself  with  making  a  good,  ser- 
viceable chair,  a  chair  well  fitted  to  sit  in.  Of  course 
he  will  not  succeed  in  making  such  a  chair  at  once ; 
but,  after  building  ten,  twenty,  or  a  hundred  chairs, 
he  will  probably  produce  one  which  will  not  only  be 
of  durable  construction  and  pleasant  to  sit  in,  but 
every  part  of  which  ^\^11  express  its  mechanical  func- 
tion and  the  mechanical  capacities  of  the  material  em- 
13 


194       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


ployed.  The  other,  in  Ms  search  after  beauty,  will  be 
governed  by  his  understanding  of  the  nature  of  beauty. 
If  his  definition  of  beauty  is  the  correct  one,  he  will 
do  precisely  what  the  first  mechanic  has  done,  and  suc- 
ceed as  he  did.  But  if  he  imagines  that  beauty  is  the 
property  of  certain  forms  or  lines,  or  decorations,  or 
coloring,  he  will  attempt  to  introduce  these  forms  into 
his  chair ;  and  whenever  he  finds  that  his  construction 
and  material  are  inconsistent  with  these  forms,  he  will 
suppress  or  cover  up  the  construction  to  make  his 
beautiful  form  possible.  The  result,  of  course,  will  not 
be  permanently  satisfactory,  and  a  change  for  the  bet- 
ter will  seem  to  him  desirable.  Effort  will  succeed 
effort  in  this  manner  without  good  results,  and,  finding 
that  his  chairs  have  a  sale  while  new  or  strange  in 
form,  he  will  change  their  form  as  often  as  possible, 
without  any  other  aim  than  that  of  change.  Every 
season' will  bring  forth  a  new  chair,  but  not  a  better 
one ;  and  his  chairs  will  be  as  bad  at  the  end  of  twenty 
years  as  they  were  at  the  beginning.  Yet  this  man 
will  talk  much  of  beauty  at  the  beginning  of  his 
enterprise,  and  of  beauty  and  fashion  toward  the  end 
of  it ;  and,  if  financially  successful  in  his  dealings,  will 
serve  as  an  authority  on  both  these  subjects.  The 
chairs  of  the  first  man  also  mil  have  a  ready  sale,  pro- 
vided he  does  not  make  too  many  of  them ;  but  their 
merit  as  objects  of  beauty  will  not  be  fully  recognized 
until  he  dies  and  can  make  no  more ;  and  will  not  be 
popularly  established  until  chairs  of  his  make  are  to 
be  found  only  in  isolated  collections  of  rare  furniture. 

Now,  works  of  mechanic  art,  although  not  intended 
to  represent  ideas  in  matter,  nevertheless  convey 
ideas  of  material  relations  to  which  they  are  formed 


SCIENCE  AND  ART, 


195 


to  respond.  A  chair,  by  frequent  use,  becomes  famil- 
iar to  us  as  an  object  capable  of  supporting  a  person. 
Our  conceptions  of  mechanical  stability  are,  in  the 
absence  of  scientific  training,  formed  by  constant 
practical  experiments  in  using  the  various  works  of 
mechanic  art  with  which  we  are  surrounded.  When 
a  man  sits  down  upon  a  chair,  he  is  practically  testing 
its  strength  ;  and  if  he  has  used  it  for  a  time  he  is  justi- 
fied in  concluding  that  it  is  sufficiently  strong  to  carry 
its  habitual  load.  In  this  manner  men  come  to  regard 
articles  of  furniture  as  expressive  of  a  certain  mechan- 
ical function,  and  articles  of  clothing  as  expressive  of 
certain  natural  forms.  The  bulging  escritoires,  sofas, 
tables,  bedsteads  and  chairs  of  the  last  century  mounted 
upon  attenuated  curved  legs,  were  imagined  to  be 
beautiful  specimens  of  furniture :  and  the  cocked  hats, 
peruques,  queues,  coats,  and  bosom-frills  of  the  same 
time,  just  expressions  of  the  human  form. 

The  works  of  human  art,  if  not  wisely  conceived,  not 
only  fail  to  convey  true  knowledge,  but  are  the  source 
of  error  and  prejudice.  The  human  mind  becomes 
warped  when  surrounded  with  artificial  forms  of  de- 
fective organism.  During  certain  periods  of  so-called 
civilization,  the  very  ideas  which  determine  works  of 
human  art  are  entirely  lost  sight  of,  and  art  forms  are 
referred  only  to  the  caprice  of  their  author,  and  to 
no  tangible  law,  principle,  or  idea.  Now  mechanic  art 
forms  a  very  important  element  in  this  sort  of  knowl- 
edge, for  it  teaches  the  rudiments  of  it — that  elemen- 
tary knowledge  which  may  be  easily  traced  to  human 
needs,  and  which  involves  no  complicated  or  remote 
ideas.  If  we  build  wardrobes  with  castellated  tops, 
the  saloons  of  steamers  in  wooden  imitations  of  columns. 


196       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


arches,  and  entablatures ;  if  we  endow  book-cases  with 
roofs,  and  make  carpets  an  aggregation  of  natural 
flowers,  or  bouses  and  landscapes,  we  do  violence  to 
the  artificial  organisms  we  create,  and  pervert  the 
minds  of  those  who  are  surrounded  by  these  works  of 
art.  They  soon  cease  to  look  for  reasons  which  de- 
termine forms,  but  accept  them  as  conventional  truths, 
and  become  thereby  insensible  to  rational  form. 
Around  a  very  small  nucleus  of  real  art,  society  culti- 
vates a  vast  array  of  spurious  and  false  art,  and  so 
overwhelming  is  its  influence  upon  the  human  mind, 
that  art  is  but  exceptionally  recognized  as  the  logical 
sequence  of  reason,  and  is  popularly  accepted  to  be 
the  result  of  a  personal  inspiration,  or,  as  it  is  usually 
called,  of  art  feeling.  Not  only  the  layman,  but  the 
art  student  participates  in  this  popular  error. 

Until  the  philosophy  and  the  technique  of  the  arts 
are  taught  in  a  scientific  manner,  both  mechanic  and 
fine  art  must  drag  on  an  empirical  existence,  pregnant 
with  all  the  harm  to  society  which  has  brought  it  into 
disrepute  as  a  source  of  knowledge. 

Natural  organisms  also  serve  the  purpose  of  teach- 
ing the  relation  of  form  to  function,  but  the  majority 
of  men  are  by  the  processes  of  so-called  civilization 
removed  from  nature,  and  surrounded  by  the  creations 
of  art.  While  one  work  of  art  teaches  truths,  a  thou- 
sand teach  falsehood.  Many  schools  have  been  estab- 
lished for  instruction  in  the  mechanic  and  industrial 
arts.  The  models  placed  before  the  pupil  in  these 
industrial  schools  are  again  representations  of  the 
fashionable  forms  which  find  a  ready  sale  in  the  popu- 
lar market.  No  earnest  attempt  is  made  to  purify  art 
of  its  errors,  or  to  teach  true  art,  because  it  is  deemed 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


197 


more  pressing  to  train  the  pupil  to  do  what  is  currently- 
sold. 

The  great  popular  art  staples,  the  works  of  mechanic 
art,  and  of  literature,  the  popular  stage,  and  architec- 
ture are  degraded  to  the  lowest  ebb.  Complaints  that 
English  manufacturing  interests  are  deteriorating  the 
high  standard  heretofore  maintained  in  the  treatment 
of  color  and  texture  in  Asiatic  woven  fabrics,  it  may  be 
feared,  are  not  without  foundation  in  fact.  A  slow 
but  certain  mental  revolution  is  in  progress  which 
divides  society  intellectually  into  two  classes.  The 
one  comprises  a  small  minority  of  learning  and  pro- 
gress ;  and  the  other,  forming  the  mass  of  mankind,  is 
accumulating  prejudice  and  error,  and  sinking  into 
barbarism.  Science  not  only  cannot  reach  this  great 
mass,  but  affects  it  injuriously  by  fostering  the  conceit 
of  a  little  learning.  The  false  philosophy  of  the  past, 
which  was  the  outcome  of  the  limited  mental  capacity 
of  social  and  religious  leaders,  is  weakened  no  doubt 
in  popular  influence,  but  only  to  make  room  for  a  pro- 
lific crop  of  similar  errors,  which  grow  spontaneously 
in  the  mind  of  the  individual  who  believes  that,  as  a 
citizen  of  a  highly  civilized  community,  his  right  to 
original  thought  cannot  be  disputed.  But  by  original 
thought  nothing  better  is  meant  than  the  hasty  im- 
pressions accompanying  imperfect  sensuous  perception, 
mere  sentiment,  mere  emotion,  mere  feeling. 

Absorbed  in  the  acquisition  of  material  wealth,  the 
citizen  of  the  nineteenth  century  overlooks  the  vast 
amount  of  human  labor  squandered  upon  industries 
which  have  no  intrinsic  value,  and  which  are  consigned 
to  waste  as  soon  as  a  change  of  fashion  has  introduced 
new  forms  equally  valueless.    It  is  believed  that  so 


198 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


called  luxuries  should  be  encouraged,  in  order  to 
give  employment  to  labor.  This  would  be  true,  if  the 
result  of  this  labor  had  a  real  value  as  an  object  of 
luxury.  But,  as  it  has  no  such  value  in  fact,  the  in- 
quiry whether  human  labor  squandered  can  be  bene- 
ficial to  society  becomes  a  serious  question.  It  so 
happens  that  human  wealth  has  no  being  outside  of 
the  outcome  of  science  and  art.  Agricultural  lands, 
railroads,  ships,  manufactures,  mines,  tenements,  are  not 
wealth:  they  are  only  the  means,  the  tools  to  sustain 
life.  "Wealth  is  what  remains  after  life  has  been  sus- 
tained by  food,  clothing,  and  shelter,  and  after  the 
means  have  been  supplied  for  further  similar  supplies. 

The  British  Museum,  AVestminster  Abbey,  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne,  the  col- 
lections at  the  Louvre  and  the  Vatican, — all  these  are 
human  wealth.  How  much  of  this  sort  of  real  wealth 
is  being  produced  by  the  gigantic  efforts  of  modern 
mechanical  and  other  scientific  improvements,  or  by 
modern  human  labor  ? 

It  is  true  that  the  invention  of  labor-saving  machin- 
ery has  increased  and  somewhat  improved  the  physical 
supplies  of  the  masses.  We  have  more  and  better 
food  and  clothing,  perhaps  better  and  cleanlier  dwell- 
ings. The  streets  of  cities  are  properly  sewered,  and 
partially  lighted  at  night.  Life  and  property  are  less 
insecure  than  they  have  been  heretofore.  These  are 
great  gains,  not  to  be  overlooked  or  underestimated ; 
yet  it  must  be  admitted  that  our  boasted  progress  in 
science  has  done  but  little  for  the  mental  culture  of 
the  masses.  This  is  not  to  be  laid  to  any  shortcoming 
or  defect  of  science,  but  simply  to  the  fact  that  the 
masses  cannot  be  mentally  benefited  by  scientific  pro- 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


199 


gress.  This  progress  must  and  will  continue  to  accrue 
mentally  only  to  the  few  who  can  devote  themselves  to 
the  study  of  science.  The  masses  may  be  benefited 
materially  by  the  indirect  results  of  science;  mentally 
they  can  be  taught  only  by  art.  What  should  be  done 
to  enhance  the  efficacy  of  art  teaching  ?  All  that  is 
necessary  is  that  works  of  mechanic  and  fine  art 
should  be  made  true  works  of  art.  Now  what  are  the 
means  to  that  end? 

As  in  all  human  progress,  we  must  begin  by  the 
elimination  of  error. 

The  chief  of  these  errors  is  the  popular  belief 
that  the  pleasurable  emotion,  caused  by  the  contem- 
plation of  art,  is  of  itself  a  test  of  art ;  although  many 
objects  not  works  of  art  produce  a  similar  emotion. 
Things  new  and  strange,  huge  or  minute;  things 
costly  or  elaborate;  yes,  even  things  devoid  of  any 
traceable  quality  whatever,  if  used  or  possessed  by 
persons  of  fashion,  or  by  large  numbers  of  people,  are 
desired  by  many,  and  their  acquisition  is  accompanied 
by  the  pleasurable  emotion;  yet  they  are  not  only 
worthless,  but  tend  to  stunt  the  human  intellect. 
Their  very  existence  is  a  reproach,  the  sight  of  them 
a  mental  injury. 

As  there  is  no  short  cut  to  the  knowledge  of  art, 
and  as  the  mass  of  the  people  cannot  be  expected  to 
study  art,  so  as  to  know  it  when  they  see  it,  and  avoid  its 
counterfeits,  we  can  only  advise  the  layman  to  beware 
of  things  whose  only  merit  is,  that  they  are  in  the 
fashion,  and  to  proceed  in  the  purchase  of  works  of  me- 
chanic and  fine  art,  as  he  would  in  the  purchase  of 
anything  of  which  he  is  ignorant ;  that  is,  to  employ 
professional  advice. 


200 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 


The  next  error  to  be  eliminated  is,  tliat  the  emotions 
help  to  create  art.  Art  appeals  to  the  emotions,  bnt  it  is 
not  produced  by  emotions,  feelings,  sentiment,  manner- 
ism, or,  as  Carlyle  has  it,  by  modem  dilettanteism  of 
any  kind ;  but  by  the  cunning,  the  craft,  the  skill  of 
art.  It  is  the  result  only  of  sober,  cool,  intelligent 
thought,  and  of  technical  knowledge,  which  is  acquired 
only  by  hard,  persevering,  and  long  continued  labor. 
Above  all  things,  the  student  of  art  should  remember 
that  premeditation  is  its  first  characteristic;  that  to 
produce  aii  work  the  artist  must  have  a  clear  and 
definite  understanding  of  the  idea  to  be  celebrated 
in  art,  and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  technical 
methods  requisite  to  represent  this  idea  in  matter. 
Let  it  be  well  understood  that  we  cannot  paint  a  pic- 
ture and  then  consider  what  we  shall  call  this  picture, 
painted  as  it  were  by  accident,  and  yet  claim  for  it  the 
title  of  a  work  of  fine  art.  It  is  true  that  anything 
well  painted,  or  cut  in  stone,  or  expressed  in  words 
in  imitation  of  nature,  is  a  respectable  study  of  art; 
it  is  a  sort  of  work  students  of  fine  art  must  do  in 
order  to  attain  to  ultimate  perfection.  But  to  create 
a  work  of  fine  art,  it  is  necessary  that  an  idea  should 
be  represented  in  matter  with  premeditation,  and 
that  the  artist  shall,  from  the  beginning  of  the  work, 
and  throughout  every  stage  of  it,  be  the  master 
of  the  means  and  methods  of  accomplishing  this 
object. 

The  next  error  is  the  supposition  that  artists  are 
born,  not  made.  Genius,  natural  genius,  it  is  imagined, 
constitutes  their  sole  art  force.  This  is  true  to  this 
extent,  that  no  one  can  succeed  in  any  vocation  of 
life  without  natural  abilities  of  a  certain  kind  and 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


201 


degree.  A  healthy  physical  development,  more  espe- 
cially of  the  brain  and  nervous  system,  is  a  condition 
precedent  to  the  acquisition,  retention,  and  application 
of  knowledge  of  any  kind.  But  knowledge  of  the 
combined  experience  of  past  geniuses  is  a  primary 
necessity  to  progress  in  art,  as  well  as  in  any  other 
branch  of  human  learning  or  technical  dexterity.  To 
acquire  this  knowledge,  natural  aptness  and  love  for 
the  subject  are  a  great  help,  no  doubt ;  and  without  a 
certain  degree  of  this  natural  capability  no  success  is  to 
be  expected.  Yet  we  cannot  even  assert  that  defective 
sensuous  perception  is  absolutely  a  bar  to  perfection  in 
art,  where  one  is  bent  upon  overcoming  obstacles  by 
application  and  industry.  Men  with  defective  sight, 
speech,  hearing,  and  muscular  development,  have  be- 
come painters,  sculptors,  and  orators.  If  we  contem- 
plate the  great  works  of  human  art,  we  will  find  that 
all  successful  artists  have  pursued  art  with  unremitting 
labor  and  study,  and  whenever  in  art  we  observe  the 
power  of  genius,  close  scrutiny  will  also  show  profound 
study  and  knowledge.  Genius  never  can  supply  the 
artist  with  knowledge  nor  with  technical  ability,  it 
only  helps  him  to  make  the  best  use  of  both.  If 
Shakespeare  had  been  born  and  bred  alone  upon  a 
desert  island,  no  amount  of  genius  could  have  enabled 
him  to  write  his  Macbeth,  Eichard  III.,  or  Othello. 
The  plots  of  his  plays  are  mainly  carefully  selected 
acts,  illustrating  comprehensive  and  exalted  ideas. 
The  acts  are  taken  from  history,  and  are  of  the  highest 
order  as  ideals  for  poetic  treatment.  The  knowledge 
of  the  emotions  produced  by  these  acts  is,  surely,  not 
invented  but  acquired;  and  the  language  in  which 
these  emotions  are  depicted  is  often  the  language  of 


202       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


persons  far  removed  from  the  probable  language  of 
the  associates  of  the  poet. 

The  popular  judgment  of  inherent  genius  in  art  is 
deceived  by  the  ease,  grace,  and  naturalness  of  all  art 
work.  It  seems  to  flow  from  inspiration,  when  in  fact 
it  is  the  result  of  great  labor.  The  hard  work,  prac- 
tice, and  study  required  to  prepare  the  artist  for  his 
work,  far  exceed  that  of  any  other  vocation  of  life, 
and,  so  far  from  being  the  agreeable  work  which  it  is 
popularly  imagined  to  be,  it  is  in  its  elementary  stages, 
and  for  a  long  period  of  time,  the  most  discouraging 
and  wearing  labor  man  can  undertake.  Scientific 
inquiry  or  study  leads  from  step  to  step  to  new  rev- 
elations of  truths  which  are  in  themselves  acquisitions, 
and  can  be  held  and  possessed  as  completed  elements 
of  further  progress.  In  art  every  advance  is  merely  an 
approach  to,  never  an  attainment  of  absolute  success. 
The  true  artist  is  doomed  to  remain  a  student  throuo:h- 
out  a  laborious  life.  It  is  only  the  dilettante  who  is 
happy  in  his  shadow  of  knowing. 

It  is  the  great  merit  of  art,  and  its  main  function, 
that  it  may  confer  knowledge  upon  uncultivated  minds. 
This,  however,  is  not  the  knowledge  contained  in  a 
work  of  art,  but  merely  that  modicum  of  it  which  the 
subject  is  able  to  comprehend.  To  the  subject  this  frag- 
mentary knowledge  seems  complete.  State  to  a  person 
not  familiar  with  geometry  the  simple  fact  that  a  line 
drawn  from  the  apex  of  the  right  angle  of  a  right-angled 
triangle,  perpendicular  to  the  hypothenuse,  represents 
in  its  length  the  geometrical  mean  of  the  two  frag- 
ments of  the  hypothenuse  which  it  divides,  and  his  mind 
will  be  a  perfect  blank  as  to  the  nature  of  the  informa- 
tion imparted  to  him.  You  may  explain  the  meaning  of 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


203 


tlie  terms  used,  and  you  may  even  illustrate  your  state- 
ment by  a  diagram.  As  long  as  your  auditor  is  not  in 
full  possession  of  tlie  whole  argument  involved,  lie  can 
know  nothing  of  the  fact  related. 

A  picture,  a  poem,  a  statue,  a  structure,  no  matter 
what  the  idea  they  represent,  produce  a  mental  im- 
pression upon  every  person.  And  what  is  more :  this 
mental  impression  contains  within  itself  an  embryo,  as 
it  were,  a  sort  of  glimmering  of  the  idea  intended  to 
be  conveyed  by  these  works  of  art. 

This  is  the  reason  why  art  teaches  every  one,  even 
the  most  uncultivated ;  and  it  is  unfortunately  the  rea- 
son, also,  why  every  one  thinks  that  he  can  understand 
art. 

The  very  first  thing  to  be  done,  therefore,  is  to  im- 
press men  with  this  very  fact,  that  they  may  be  taught 
by  art  as  well  as  by  nature ;  but  that  they  may  not 
presume  for  this  reason  alone  to  judge  works  of  art 
any  more  than  they  dare  to  criticise  the  works  of 
nature.  Mere  sensuous  perception  is  sufficient  to  ap- 
prehend the  knowledge  imparted  by  art ;  but  a  knowl- 
edge of  art  is  needed  to  understand  its  merits:  and 
this  knowledge  is  to  be  acquired  only  by  long-contin- 
ued, arduous  study.  The  common  error  that  genius 
alone  enables  artists  to  do  art  work,  should  be  eradi- 
cated. By  this  error  men  imagine,  because  they  are 
favorably  impressed  by  a  work  of  art,  that  they,  too, 
are  possessed  of  genius ;  and  that  their  genius  also  may 
break  out  in  art  work  presently,  perhaps  greater  in 
merit  than  anything  produced  heretofore.  Let  us 
imagine,  for  a  moment,  a  similar  state  of  things  in 
science,  in  the  law,  in  mechanics,  or  in  agriculture :  let 
us  imagine  men  rushing  to  proclaim,  teach,  and  illus- 


204       NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART, 


trate  by  practical  effort  the  crude  offspring  of  an  ill- 
regulated  fancy,  under  the  impression  that  they  are 
enriching  the  world  with  knowledge,  and  that  there  is 
no  one  to  stem  this  torrent  of  error.  Would  not  society 
sink  into  barbarism  under  such  a  system  ?  If  a  book 
were  printed  to-day  which  taught  that  the  earth  is 
flat,  and  rests  on  the  back  of  a  turtle,  it  would  meet 
with  no  attention  in  any  respectable  quarter ;  and  no 
one  would  accept  such  a  theory  as  truth.  Such  a  book 
would  certainly  find  no  sale  in  the  market.  The  rea- 
son why  we  disregard  the  theory  now,  is  that  it  has 
been  long  ago  superseded  by  Newton's  law  of  gravi- 
tation. But  suppose  that  some  notable  personages  or 
associations  of  persons  should  accept  this  theory,  not 
as  incontrovertible,  but  as  a  debatable  idea  which,  at 
least  for  the  time  being,  is  to  them  interesting,  and  an 
idea  rather  to  be  admired  than  otherwise ;  suppose  that, 
to  be  in  the  fashion,  it  should  become  necessary  to  af- 
fect the  turtle  theory,  to  adduce  reasons  in  its  behaK ; 
suppose  that  men  of  science  who  hold  it  in  contempt 
should  shrink  from  expressing  their  opinion  on  the 
subject  for  fear  of  offending  their  neighbors  who  hap- 
pen to  be  infatuated  with  this  error ;  suppose,  farther, 
that  the  temporary  success  of  such  a  publication  should 
encourage  unscrupulous  persons  to  invent  similar  falla- 
cies, which  by  sheer  force  of  impudence  and  novelty 
should  supersede  each  other  in  regular  rotation,  and 
find  a  sufficient  audience,  to  make  them  of  authority, — 
what  would  become  of  science  and  truth  in  the  mean- 
time ?  Now  this  is  exactly  the  condition  in  which  the 
whole  civilized  world  is  placed  at  the  present  time 
by  bad,  perverted,  and  defective  ai*t.  No  one  whose 
opinion  is  of  value  asserts  that  this  bad  art  is  good  art ; 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


205 


or  that  its  existence  is  not  deteriorating  popular  morals 
and  the  popular  intellect.  But,  on  the  whole,  society 
has  taken  it  under  its  patronage,  and  it  thrives  by- 
social  protection. 

If  modern  dress,  furniture,  structures,  literature,  and 
decorations,  were  the  best  results  of  the  age ;  if  they 
had  at  no  time  previously  been  excelled ;  if,  in  fine,  we 
knew  no  better,  this  would  be  a  sufficient  reason  for 
accepting  their  crudeness,  ugliness,  and  inconsistency. 
Even  if  we  had  known  better  art  heretofore,  and  could 
not  now  approach  former  excellence  because  the  ablest 
minds  of  the  present  era  are  not  capable  of  it,  we 
should  be  warranted  in  tolerating  it  as  it  is.  But 
surely  we  know  that  our  costume  is  hideous,  and  that 
by  far  the  largest  portion  of  our  architecture  is  unde- 
serving that  name ;  that  the  bulk  of  literature  is  bad, 
and  popular  plays,  if  not  demoralizing,  are  certainly 
vapid,  aimless,  and  without  point.  We  know  that  so- 
called  popular  music  and  dancing  is,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  indifferent  in  quality ;  and  that  bad  painting  and 
sculpture,  furniture,  hangings,  and  house  decoration, 
aimless  gardening,  and  bad  mechanic  art  find  abundant 
acceptance  in  our  markets.  Why  is  it  that  men  of 
brains,  of  learning,  of  piety,  and  of  high  social  posi- 
tion silently  submit  to  this  state  of  things  ?  Why  is 
the  direction  and  management  of  this  matter  left  to 
fops,  dandies,  tailors,  and  quacks  of  all  kinds,  instead 
of  being  deputed  to  men  conversant  with  art  ?  It  is 
because  in  science,  trade,  statesmanship,  agriculture, 
theology  and  the  law,  society  meekly  submits  to  the 
authority  of  those  who  have  distinguished  themselves 
by  superior  attainment  in  these  branches  of  human 
knowledge ;  while  all  the  world  besides  pretends  to  a 


206 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART 


knowledge  of  art  and  forms  that  terrible  majority  which 
compels  bishops,  princes,  and  learned  professors,  to 
appear  in  pantaloons  and  swallow-tail  coats  in  polite 
society.  The  poor  benighted  Zulu,  who  eagerly  adopts 
the  European  costume,  is  a  reproach  to  us  in  this  very 
matter ;  he  finds  the  white  man  to  be  his  superior  in 
war  and  in  the  arts  of  peace,  and  he  accepts  his  garb 
because  he  respects  the  man  who  wears  it.  What 
reason  have  we  to  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  fashion  ? 
Do  we  respect  the  men  who  invent  it  ?  Do  we  admire 
it  in  any  sense  ?  Do  we  not  detest  and  abhor  it  ? 
There  is  no  trace  to  be  found  in  nature  which  points 
to  the  incongruous  and  absurd  forms  of  modern  art. 
They  are  pure  inventions  of  an  untutored,  illogical,  and 
disordered  brain. 

Prof.  Tyndall,  in  the  "  Fragments  of  Science,"  (fifth 
edition,  page  90)  asks  the  question :  "  Is  it  necessary 
that  the  student  of  science  should  have  his  labors 
tested  by  their  possible  practical  application  ?  What 
is  the  practical  use  of  Homer's  Iliad  ?  You  probably 
think  that  Homer's  Iliad  is  good  as  a  means  of  culture. 
The  people  who  demand  of  science  practical  uses  for- 
get, or  do  not  know  that  it  also  is  great  as  a  means  of 
culture — that  the  knowledge  of  this  wonderful  uni- 
verse is  a  thing  profitable  in  itself,  and  requires  no 
practical  application  to  justify  its  pursuit.  The  student 
of  nature  distinctly  refuses  to  have  his  labors  judged 
by  their  practical  issues,  unless  the  term  practical  be 
made  to  include  mental  as  well  as  material  good." 

What  a  world  of  thought  is  contained  in  these  few 
words :  thought  which  applies  to  art  in  its  most  im- 
portant significance. 

We  may  learn  from  this  simple,  clear,  and  logical 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 


207 


sentence,  ttat  *^  tlie  knowledge  of  this  wonderful  uni- 
verse is  a  profitable  thing  of  itself,"  and  that  the  knowl- 
edge of  art  is  equal  to  it  in  their  joint  function  of 
human  culture ;  that  mental  culture  is  a  practical  boon 
in  no  way  inferior  to  any  material  good.  And  much 
more  than  this  may  be  read  between  the  lines.  Sci- 
ence teaches  man  to  think  logically ;  and  art  acquaints 
him  with  true  human  thoughts.  Thought  he  needs  to 
attain  the  material  good  which  secures  existence  as  an 
organism ;  but,  more  than  this,  he  needs  it  to  attain  the 
mental  good  which  endows  him  with  the  dignity  of  a 
man. 

It  has  been  often  stated,  and  is  doubtless  true,  that 
to  think  correctly  man  needs  a  mathematical  training ; 
for  this  solves  many  problems  and  points  with  force 
to  the  problems  which  as  yet  cannot  be  solved.  To 
the  untutored  mind,  the  solution  of  no  problem  seems 
impossible,  nor  can  the  untutored  mind  solve  any 
problem.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  bad  science,  for 
bad  science  is  not  science  at  all ;  hence,  the  man  of 
science  knows  fully  and  perfectly  either  that  he  does 
or  does  not  know. 

Unfortunately  there  is  such  a  thing  as  bad  art — art 
that  is  false,  not  true ;  and  this  bad  art  teaches  with 
the  same  facility  as  true  art,  with  this  difference,  that 
it  teaches  falsehood.  It  pretends  to  re-create  nature, 
but  it  creates  only  misconceptions  of  nature,  things 
adverse  to  nature;  and  its  teaching  perverts  men's 
minds,  and  dements  them. 

Another  peculiarity  of  art  teaching  is,  that  art  pre- 
sents to  us  ideas  in  the  emotions  they  produce ;  and 
we  sympathize  with  these  emotions,  and  make  them 
more  or  less  our  own.    We  feel,  as  it  were,  the  force 


208 


NATURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


of  the  idea  without  clearly  understanding  or  realizing 
its  nature.  If  the  ideas  conveyed  by  the  art  which 
surrounds  us  are  true  ideas,  we  are  filled,  as  it  were, 
with  sound  convictions ;  and  if  it  is  bad  art,  we  are 
filled  with  unsound  convictions.  But,  in  either  case, 
we  have  not  been  prepared  to  reason  on  the  subject ; 
and  the  evil  results  of  bad  art  cannot  be  removed  by 
the  ordinary  processes  of  proving  a  fallacy,  for  no 
matter  how  lucid  and  direct  our  argument,  it  addresses 
itself  only  to  the  reason,  and  not  to  the  feeling  of  the 
subject.  Hence  it  is  that  the  mental  injury  done  by 
bad  art  can  be  repaired  (with  the  masses  who  receive 
education  from  art)  only  by  its  removal  from  sight  and 
hearing,  and  the  substitution  of  good  art  in  its  place. 
The  heresy  of  the  present  age  is  in  the  belief  that  bad 
art  does  no  special  harm,  and  that  good  art  does  no 
special  good  beyond  the  pleasure  it  affords.  It  is 
imagined  that  the  pleasure  produced  by  art  answers 
as  a  substitute  for  other  less  desirable  pleasures,  which 
would  be  cultivated  and  sought  after  in  the  absence 
of  art.  The  knowledge  conveyed  by  art  is  almost 
entirely  overlooked ;  and  to  make  this  knowledge  potent, 
to  secure  its  cultivating  influence  to  humanity,  its  ex- 
istence must  be  brought  out  in  the  clearest  light. 


F^RT  III. 


NATUEE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


DEFIiaTION  OF  AECHITECTUEE. 

If  a  structure  is  erected  to  accommodate  a  number 
of  persons  wlio  congregate  in  it,  not  for  the  purpose 
of  gratifying  physical  needs  only,  but  in  obedience  to 
an  idea,  such  a  structure  is  called  a  monument  of  this 
idea. 

Inasmuch  as  man  always  needs  protection  from  the 
weather,  and  space  to  be  in,  whether  he  is  intent  upon 
the  mere  gratification  of  these  physical  wants,  or  upon 
the  intellectual  contemplation  of  ideas  pertaining  to 
human  relations,  it  is  evident  that  architectural  monu- 
ments also  indirectly  deal  with  physical  human  wants. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  are  many  structures  which 
are  built  mainly  to  answer  physical  human  needs,  but 
which,  at  the  same  time,  are  intended  to  express  ideas, 
such  as  dwellings,  structures  devoted  to  business  pur- 
suits, or  charitable  purposes,  and  many  others.  It  ap- 
pears, therefore,  that  in  almost  every  structure  erected 
for  human  occupation,  it  becomes  the  problem  also  to 
express  in  that  structure  an  idea. 

Architecture  is  the  fine  art  by  which  ideas  are  ex- 
pressed in  a  structure,  and  more  especially  in  a  monu- 
ment. 

How  is  an  idea  to  be  expressed  in  a  structure  ?  Its 
form  must  of  necessity  be  purely  ideal.    There  is 
211 


212 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


no  object  in  nature  whicli  can  be  accepted  by  the  ar- 
cMtect  as  a  model  for  his  creation.  Yet  imitation  is 
an  unavoidable  element  in  a  work  of  fine  art.  These 
are  the  complex  questions  which  present  themselves  to 
the  architect.  We  can  arrive  at  a  clear  conception  of 
architecture  as  a  fine  art  only  by  answering  them,  and 
by  showing  the  co-existence  and  the  correlation  of  all 
the  conditions. 

We  have  seen  in  a  preceding  chapter  how  in  sculp- 
ture, painting,  poetry,  and  dancing,  ideas  are  repre- 
sented in  matter  by  the  depicting  of  motions  of  matter 
(the  modifications  of  the  muscles  and  of  the  figure  of 
man),  as  affected  by  the  emotions,  the  result  of  acts 
which  illustrate  an  idea.  How  can  this  be  done  in  a 
structure  ?  Can  it  be  said  that  a  structure  performs 
an  act  illustrative  of  an  idea  ?  And  if  so,  can  this  act 
produce  in  a  structure  emotions?  What  are  the  skel- 
eton, muscles,  sinews,  and  nerves  of  a  structure,  which 
may  be  made  to  express  emotions  ?  And  how,  if  all 
this  is  possible,  can  it  be  done  in  imitation  of  nature  ? 
or  where  in  nature  are  we  to  find  the  model  for  our 
purpose  ? 

It  is  well  known  that  a  structure  performs  an  act  in 
affording  shelter  to  man  to  protect  him  from  the 
weather.  This  act  of  affording  shelter  is  performed 
in  various  ways  by  different  kinds  of  structures.  A 
community  is  supplied  with  dwellings,  school-houses, 
churches,  theatres,  libraries,  assembly-rooms,  and  courts 
— ^they  all  afford  shelter  to  the  same  individuals  in  vari- 
ous combinations,  but  under  different  conditions.  It  is 
to  the  nature  of  these  conditions  that  we  must  look 
for  the  idea  expressed  in  the  structure. 

When  men  assemble  for  the  worship  of  God,  for 


DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  213 


the  administration  of  justice,  for  instruction  and  amuse- 
ment derived  from  dramatic  or  musical  performances, 
or  for  social  intercourse,  in  tlie  pursuit  of  pleasure 
wliich  is  of  an  intellectual  nature,  and  contemplates 
directly  or  indirectly  the  artistic  development  of  an 
idea,  or  in  any  pursuit  whatever  whicli  tends  to  simi- 
lar ends,  they  arrange  themselves  in  groups  best  suited 
to  their  personal  convenience  or  to  the  individual  re- 
lations of  the  participants  in  the  entertainment  or 
other  proceedings  carried  on  in  these  respective  struc- 
tures. 

If  these  groups  are  the  simple  result  of  physical 
personal  convenience,  then  the  structure  fitted  to  ac- 
commodate these  groups  is  merely  a  work  of  mechanic 
art.  But  if  these  groups  are  organized  to  express  an 
appreciation  of  an  idea  illustrated  by  acts  performed 
within  the  walls  of  a  structure,  either  by  word,  motion, 
or  sound  (music)  ;  and  if  by  their  grouping  they  indi- 
cate an  emotion,  which  is  the  result  of  the  acts  par- 
ticipated in,  or  merely  perceived  by  the  senses ;  and  if 
the  structure  is  so  arranged  as  to  express,  or  at  least 
betray  in  its  form,  in  the  modelling  of  its  masses  and 
parts,  in  its  decoration  and  coloring,  an  adaptation  to 
and  expression  of  the  presence,  order,  magnitude,  num- 
ber, and  relation  of  the  groups  accommodated  in  its 
interior — then  this  structure  is  a  work  of  fine  art  ex- 
pressive of  an  act  illustrating  an  idea.  For  example, 
a  room  containing  a  counter  for  the  sale  of  food  to 
persons  standing  or  sitting  before  it,  or  a  bar  for  the 
sale  of  beverages,  under  a  similar  arrangement — the  af- 
fording of  shelter  and  accommodation  for  these  per- 
sons— may  be  developed  into  a  highly  respectable  work 
of  mechanic  art.    It  may  be  worked  up  into  a  struc- 


214 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


ture  whidi  is  a  perfect  body,  a  body  wHcli  does  physi- 
cal work  well  and  appropriately,  but  wMch.  lias  no 
soul,  no  thought  to  be  related,  unless  it  be  the  simple 
legend,  "  Men  are  fed  here." 

A  meeting-house  containing  nothing  but  closely- 
packed  sittings,  wherein  men  and  women  are  stowed 
with  economy  of  space  to  listen  to  a  discourse  from  a 
pulpit  crowded  against  a  wall,  is  not  a  work  of  fine 
art ;  for  the  position  of  the  audience  does  not  indicate 
an  emotion,  say  the  worship  of  God,  which  is  the  re- 
sult of  an  act  in  illustration  of  an  idea,  say  our  de- 
pendence on  God  and  his  universe,  of  which  we  are 
but  an  insignificant  part.  Structures  of  this  class,  in- 
deed, perform  the  act  of  sheltering  men  from  inclem- 
encies of  the  weather,  but  not  an  act  which  is  the 
result  of  an  idea.  On  the  contrary,  such  a  structure 
is  merely  the  result  of  a  physical  necessity,  for  the 
meeting-house,  like  the  bar-room,  is  constructed  for 
the  mere  purpose  of  human  stowage,  without  reference 
to  any  possible  act  of  the  audience  beyond  mere  exist- 
ence, and  is  strictly  prohibitory  in  form  and  expression 
of  any  demonstration  which  is  the  result  of  an  emo- 
tion. When  the  men  who  feed  and  drink,  or  those 
who  listen  to  the  discourse,  make  any  motion,  it  must 
be  to  leave  the  place.  The  limits  of  the  structure  for- 
bid any  method  of  grouping  other  than  that  of  a  series 
of  equal  human  quantities,  which  have  but  one  desire, 
viz. :  to  be  accommodated  without  being  crowded,  and 
to  be  protected  from  the  sun  and  the  rain. 
.  But  when,  on  the  other  hand,  we  see  a  structure 
providing  for  a  combination  of  groupings  various  in 
magnitude,  elegance,  dignity,  and  richness,  which  com- 
bination in  part  or  as  a  whole  represents  certain  acts 


DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE,  215 


of  these  groups,  say  prayer,  praise,  confession  of  sins, 
exhortation,  the  partaking  of  the  communion,  baptisms, 
marriages,  funerals,  ordinations,  processions  of  various 
kinds,  and  consultations,  such  as  we  find  embodied  in 
the  nave,  aisle,  choir,  cloister,  chapel,  vestry-room, 
chapter-house,  and  baptistery  of  a  cathedral,  we  may 
then  say  that  such  a  structure  denotes  acts  which  are 
the  result  of  ideas,  and  that  it  assists  the  congregation 
within  it  in  the  performance  of  acts  explained  by  their 
resultant  emotions. 

Men  may  perform  acts  recognized  as  physical  acts, 
such  as  eating,  drinking,  breathing,  sleeping,  etc.,  or 
they  may  perform  acts  which  are  equally  recognized 
as  spiritual,  such  as  the  expression  of  joy,  devotion, 
hope,  contentment,  anger,  rage,  regret,  etc.  Both  kinds 
of  acts  are  modifications  of  the  human  frame,  both  are 
made  manifest  by  physical  demonstrations  ;  yet  we  at- 
tribute the  one  class  absolutely  to  physical  needs,  and 
the  other  to  ideas,  thoughts,  and  spiritual  concerns. 
The  one  is  a  series  of  acts  looking  toward  the  supply 
of  immediate  and  individual  personal  wants  ;  the  other 
is  an  inquiry  by  man  made  of  his  inner  consciousness 
concerning  his  relations  to  God,  to  nature,  to  his  fel- 
low-men, and  to  himself,  which  suggests  laws,  pre- 
cepts, and  rules  of  conduct  ordained  to  sustain  cosmic 
life :  and  these  result  in  a  series  of  acts  which  demon- 
strate the  ideas  pertaining  to  these  various  relations. 

Now  if  a  structure  is  devoted  to  physical  needs,  it 
becomes  the  mechanical  housing  of  a  mechanical  oper- 
ation, and  is,  therefore,  a  work  of  mechanic  art ;  but  if 
the  structure  is  devoted  to  spiritual  acts,  or  to  acts  re- 
lating to  moral  principles,  to  the  fundamental  laws  of 
human  relationships,  to  the  end  that  we  may  sustain 


216  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


the  life  of  humanity,  protect  and  guard  it,  then  it  be- 
comes an  arena  for  these  spiritual  acts,  and  thus  an 
integral  part  of  a  scheme  by  which  is  performed  an 
act  expressive  of  an  idea.  In  the  &st  instance  we  are 
concerned  with  the  mechanical  perfection  of  the  struc- 
ture only,  which  means  that  each  part  shall  do  the 
mechanical  work  imposed  upon  it,  and  insure  the 
stability  of  the  whole.  The  organic  parts  of  .a  struc- 
ture considered  in  this  light  form  its  skeleton  bones 
and  sinews ;  and  in  their  creation  no  special  note  is 
taken  of  the  ultimate  expression  of  mass  and  form.  It 
is  not  attempted  to  make  visible  to  the  observer  that 
mechanical  work  is  done  well,  done  with  ease,  grace, 
or  elegance ;  nor  is  it  necessary  that  in  a  structure  de- 
voted to  the  supply  of  mere  physical  needs,  the  variety 
of  functions  performed  by  its  occupants  shall  find  ex- 
pression in  a  corresponding  variety  in  the  form  and 
relation  of  its  cellular  organization.  Mere  economy 
and  mechanical  certainty  of  ultimate  performance  are 
all  that  is  demanded  of  the  author  of  a  work  of  me- 
chanic art. 

But  where  a  structure  becomes  related  to  a  human 
group  or  groups,  or  is  a  housing  of  the  same,  and  these 
groups  are  in  motion — motion  determined  by  emotions 
(a  process  of  reaction  of  the  mind  upon  the  body)  in  con- 
sequence of  physical  acts  performed,  which  illustrate 
an  idea — then  this  housing  or  structure,  by  its  own 
grouping,  must  express  the  groups  contained  within  it. 
In  the  length  and  breadth  of  its  single  cells,  or  groups 
of  cells,  it  must  indicate  the  purpose  of  each  group, 
and  the  range  and  scope  of  action  permitted  to  the 
persons  forming  it ;  and  in  the  altitude  of  single  cells, 
it  must  express  the  degree  of  dignity,  absolute  and  re- 


DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  217 


lative,  attached  to  individual  groups.  Furthermore, 
tlie  methods  of  construction  must  express  the  elegance, 
boldness,  and  dignity  of  the  idea  represented  by  the 
structure ;  while  modelling  and  decoration  must  coiTe- 
spond  with  the  character  of  the  construction  selected. 

If  in  a  structure  these  conditions  are  complied  with, 
it  may  be  said  that  the  structure  as  a  whole,  and  in  its 
parts,  betrays  emotions  the  result  of  physical  acts 
illustrative  of  an  idea,  and  that  it  is  a  work  of  fine  art. 

That  a  work  of  fine  art  as  herein  described  is  neces- 
sarily ideal  in  its  form,  needs  no  special  demonstration. 
Yet  the  idea  that  cathedrals  are  direct  imitations  of 
avenues  of  trees,  and  that  capitals  of  columns  and  piers 
are  modified  fiower  baskets,  has  met  with  approval  by 
some  writers  on  architecture  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
make  the  young  student  a  firm  believer  in  it.  Mr. 
Thomas  Hope  long  ago  disposed  of  this  matter.  We 
cannot  do  better  than  quote  his  view  on  the  subject 
before  we  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  imitation  in 
architecture.  He  says :  "  Struck  with  the  similarity 
'which  an  avenue  of  trees  presents  to  that  boast  and 
masterpiece  of  the  pointed  style,  the  nave  and  aisles 
of  a  vast  cathedral  of  the  fourteenth  or  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, in  their  parallel  rows  of  clustered  and  knotty 
pillars,  whose  lofty  stalks  ramify  and  spread  out  on  all 
sides,  whose  ribs  cross  and  interweave  themselves  with 
those  arising  from  the  other  neighboring  pillars  into  a 
series  of  pointed  arches,  showing  the  light  through  on 
every  side,  and  terminating  in  luxuriant  canopies  imi- 
tative of  foliage,  flowers,  and  buds  ;  admiring  the  re- 
semblance to  those  majestic  stems  which  arise  at  equal 
and  measured  distances,  and  whose  branches  meet  and 
intertwine  themselves  with  each  other  in  dense  vault- 


218  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


ings  of  luxuriant  foliage ;  and  at  the  same  time  little 
acquainted  witli  the  various  successive  stages  by  which 
the  last  and  most  refined  pointed  style  gradually  suc- 
ceeded to,  and  grew  out  of  the  prior  and  very  different 
system  that  prevailed  in  Europe — the  learned  War- 
burton  and  others  after  him  have  derived  its  origin 
from  the  natural  arbor  formed  by  the  stately  trees  of 
an  ancient  forest. 

"  Still  further  misled  by  the  vulgar  appellation  of 
Gothic,  given  in  England  exclusively  to  this  style,  and 
by  the  northern  birthplace  which  this  denomination 
seems  to  assign  to  it ;  and  recollecting  that  the  earliest 
priests  recorded  in  the  North — the  Druids — ^were  said 
to  have  performed  their  sacred  rites  in  forests,  and  to 
have  made,  ancient  oaks  their  temples  and  their  sanc- 
tuaries— some  have  fancied  that  among  the  Gothic 
nations,  when  converted  to  Christianity,  some  lingering 
fondness  for  their  heathen  customs ;  some  wish  still  to 
commemorate  their  pagan  rites  in  their  Christian  wor- 
ship ;  some  desire  to  give  their  laboriously  constructed 
churches  the  form  of  the  natural  temples  of  their  an- 
cestors, caused  the  adoption  of  the  pointed  style ;  and 
have  thence  traced  every  most  high  wrought  detail  of 
the  architecture  to  the  spontaneous  developments  of 
nature  ;  and  have  regarded  such  wonderful  productions 
as  the  Minster  of  York,  the  Cathedral  of  Rheims,  and 
the  Domes  of  Strasburg  and  of  Milan  as  little  more 
than  mere  fac-similes  of  those  oak  woods  in  which 
Druids  burnt  their  human  victims  in  osier  baskets. 

"  A  very  recent  author,  without  altogether  adopting 
a  derivation  so  very  distant,  has  given  to  the  pointed 
style  an  origin  which  bears  a  certain  relation  to  it. 
He  considers  not  the  Gothic  cathedral,  with  its  f  asci- 


DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  219 


culated  pillars,  its  intersecting  ribs,  its  budding  cusps 
and  finials,  as  imitated  from  trees  still  rooted  in  tlie 
ground,  still  in  a  state  of  tbe  most  entire  and  expansive 
life  and  vegetation ;  but  only  regards  it  as  copied  from 
primitive  constructions  of  posts,  and  branches,  and 
tmgs,  cut  from  the  parent  roots,  but  again  planted  in 
the  ground,  and  interwoven  together,  which,  from  the 
sap  still  remaining  in  them,  or  newly  drawn  from  the 
surrounding  elements,  have  again  put  forth  some  buds 
and  leaves. 

"  If  we  wish  to  rest  on  a  sufficient  foundation  any 
supposition  which  attributes  to  one  peculiar  modifica-  ' 
tion  its  origin  in  another  different  from  that  which 
forms  the  subject  of  our  conjecture,  we  must  take  care 
that  the  resemblance  between  what  is  supposed  the 
offspring  and  what  is  called  the  parent,  should  increase 
in  proportion  as  we  retrace  the  progress  of  the  one 
backwards,  step  by  step,  to  its  origin,  in  the  latest  de- 
velopments of  the  other ;  or  at  least  should  continue 
to  show  itself  in  a  connected  series  of  links  intervening 
between  the  two.  But  in  this  instance  the  very  reverse 
is  the  case. 

"If  any  peculiar  modification  of  the  pointed  style 
can  be  said  to  present  a  very  marked  similitude  to  a 
group  of  ancient  trees  with  their  knotty  trunks,  their 
interweaving  branches,  and  their  luxuriant  foliage,  it 
is  precisely  and  exclusively  that  last  and  highest  de- 
velopment, which  existed  not  until  at  least  a  thousand 
years  after  the  last  of  the  Druids  had  ceased  to  flourish, 
which  arose  last  out  of  the  inidiments  of  that  pointed 
style  itself,  as  well  as  out  of  the  prior  rounded  style, 
which  precisely,  by  showing  most  evidently  its  con- 
nected descent  from  the  earlier  and  simpler  pointed, 


220 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


and  the  rounded  architecture  preceding  that,  proved 
itseK  not  to  arise  immediately  or  mediately  from  any 
quarter  not  connected  with  these.  Thence,  as  we  as- 
cend to  the  earlier  modifications  of  the  pointed,  and 
from  these  to  those  of  the  earlier  Lombard  and  Roman 
styles  (out  of  which  we  shall  show  all  pointed  forms 
to  have  proximately  or  remotely  arisen),  we  find  these 
latter  to  have  existed  universally  for  many  centuries 
intervening  between  the  beginning  of  this  later  style 
and  the  extinction  of  the  pagan  rites;  and  thus  to 
form  a  complete  barrier  to  any  possible  filiation  be- 
'  tween  the  forms  of  the  one  and  of  the  other.  We  find 
the  similitude  with  the  supposed  vegetable  type  to 
diminish,  until,  in  the  prior  genuine  remains  of  the 
Druids  themselves  in  France  and  in  England,  in  the 
huge  rude  blocks  of  stone  near  Salisbury,  and  in  Brit- 
tany, precisely  where  the  resemblance  ought  to  be  most 
palpable,  we  see  it  disappear  so  completely,  that,  ar- 
rived at  this  point,  the  supposed  Druidic  pedigree  of 
the  pointed  style  can  only  excite  a  smile.  Warbur- 
ton's  idea,  therefore,  more  worthy  of  a  fanciful  novelist 
than  of  a  grave  divine  and  critic,  should  be  discarded 
by  others,  as  it  was  ultimately  by  himself ;  and  as  the 
objections  to  the  entire  trees,  with  root  and  branch,  of 
the  English  bishop,  apply  equally  to  the  insulated 
posts  and  twigs  of  the  Scotch  baronet,  we  shall  leave 
them  to  strike  what  roots  and  put  forth  what  shoots 
they  can." 

Now  to  return  to  what  is  kno^^oi  as  imitation  in 
architectural  art. 

Plastic  art  deals  with  the  human  figure,  and  depicts 
it  in  a  state  of  animation  at  the  moment  when  it  ex- 
presses the  emotion  by  which  the  artist  illustrates  an 


DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  221 


idea.  The  muscular  activity  of  tlie  human  frame  is 
meclianical,  and  subject  to  nature's  meclianical  laws. 
Here  we  have,  first,  matter  in  motion  subject  to  me- 
chanical laws ;  and,  next,  that  motion  arrested.  In  a 
structure,  the  attempt  of  its  author  is  that  the  relation 
of  matter  shall  be  stable  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end  of  the  process  of  construction,  and  that  it  shall  re- 
main so  when  the  work  is  completed.  The  conditions 
which  tend  to  disturb  stability  are  of  a  mechanical 
nature,  and  are  subject,  therefore,  to  nature's  laws  of 
mechanics.  Here  we  have  matter  in  a  state  of  rest 
in  opposition  to  possible  motion.  Another  distinction 
between  the  structure  of  the  architect  and  the  human 
form  depicted  by  the  sculptor  is,  that  the  human  form 
is  already  built  to  the  hands  of  the  sculptor  in  accord- 
ance  with  the  laws  of  mechanics ;  and  it  remains  for 
the  sculptor  only  to  understand  these  laws,  as  exempli- 
fied in  human  motion,  and  to  be  familiar  with  the 
moving  parts,  such  as  boue,  muscle,  and  tissue,  in  order 
that  he  may  depict  correctly  human  motion  as  seen  in 
a  model,  or  as  imagined  by  him.  The  intervention  of 
a  possible  model  in  this  case  may  enable  the  artist  to 
make  up  by  close  observation  what  he  lacks  in  theo- 
retical knowledge  of  physiology  and  mechanics ;  while 
the  architect  takes  his  material  from  the  great  store- 
house of  nature  and  the  mechanic  arts,  and  creates  his 
parts  of  structure  upon  natural  law  entirely,  dealing 
from  the  beginning  with  ideal  forms. 

But  inasmuch  as  these  ideal  forms  are  as  strictly 
amenable  to  laws  of  nature  as  those  which  govern  the 
mechanism  of  the  animal  frame,  the  work  of  the  archi- 
tect, as  carried  on  from  beginning  to  end,  and  in  its 
every  detail,  is  in  imitation  of  nature,  being  formed 


222 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


upon  her  principles.  The  sculptor  imitates  natural 
forms  with  the  knowledge  of  the  laws  which  determine 
their  special  modelling ;  while  the  architect  models  his 
forms  upon  a  mere  theoretical  knowledge  of  the  laws 
which  determine  their  creation.  And  both  the  sculptor 
and  the  architect  proceed  upon  a  knowledge  of  nature's 
laws,  and  in  imitation  of  her  methods,  w^ith  this  dis- 
tinction, that  the  sculptor  finds  forms  ready  made  to 
his  hand,  while  the  architect  must  evolve  his  forms 
from  the  idea  (or  its  emotion),  and  impress  these  emo- 
tions upon  the  matter  (which  is  the  material  at  his 
command),  with  the  help  of,  and  in  obedience  to,  the 
laws  of  mechanics.  These  laws,  the  idea,  and  the  mate- 
rial, constitute  the  elements  of  environment  of  all  archi- 
tectural creation;  and  by  this  environment  the  architect 
must  be  led,  directed,  and  urged  to  produce  forms 
which  are  the  natural  result  of  the  environment,  and 
which  respond  to  it  in  all  its  elements.  If  we  bear  in 
mind  the  following  definitions  relating  to  ideas  repre- 
sented in  organized  matter,  when  that  matter  is  the 
human  form,  we  can  readily  trace  the  aj^plication  of 
these  definitions  to  the  architectural  organism,  by  sub- 
stituting for  the  word  motion  the  expression  "  tendency 
to  motion."  An  idea  is  a  relation  of  matter,  or  an  ob- 
served motion  of  matter  in  relation  to  other  matter. 
An  emotion  is  an  observed  form  of  motion  of  organized 
matter  in  consequence  of  an  act  (muscular  and  nerve 
motion),  the  result  of  an  idea.  Thus  we  may  say  of 
the  ideal  forms  of  architecture,  that  they  perform  acts 
illustrative  of  an  idea,  which  acts  are  a  condition  of 
muscular  and  nerve  motion,  or  a  tendency  to  the  same, 
which  is,  in  all  cases,  an  equivalent  to  an  actual  motion 
arrested.    Hence  the  emotion  expressed  in  matter  as 


DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  223 


dealt  with  in  tlie  ideal  forms  of  architecture,  is  in  all 
cases  in  imitation  of  tlie  observed  forms  of  tlie  ten- 
dency to  motion  in  natural  organized  matter. 

We  find  in  nature  tliat  tlie  human  frame  does  me- 
chanical work,  sometimes  with  the  labor  of  the  carrier 
of  burdens,  and  then  again  with  the  ease  of  the  athlete. 
It  is  these  gradations  of  ease,  grace,  directness,  and  ex- 
pression with  which  labor  is  performed,  or  with  which 
mechanical  work  is  done  by  the  human  frame,  which 
furnish  to  the  architect  the  elements  of  art  expression 
in  his  structures. 

Like  the  elements  of  all  natural  combinations  which 
serve  the  purpose  of  artistic  or  natural  expression,  they 
are  but  few  in  number,  but  capable  of  an  infinite  series 
of  artistic  combinations. 

When  we  enumerate  strength,  elegance,  and  repose, 
we  have  probably  stated  the  whole  range  of  the  archi- 
tectural gamut ;  but  if  we  consider  that  each  of  these 
qualities  may  be  endowed  with  an  endless  range  of 
quantity,  we  can  readily  imagine  that  these  mechanical 
conditions  of  matter  may  express  endless  varieties  of 
ideas,  from  the  dungeon  keep  to  the  tabernacle  which 
contains  the  Sacraments  in  the  church  of  St.  Laurence 
at  Nuremberg. 

All  natural  organisms  are  possessed  of  the  mechan- 
ical ability  to  perform  certain  functions.  This  ability 
we  find  more  or  less  clearly  expressed  in  their  forms 
as  a  whole,  or  in  their  crystallization.  In  this  way  they 
convey  to  the  mind  an  expression  of  these  functions, 
and  thus  they  tell  the  story  of  their  being.  The  archi- 
tect, in  imitation  of  this  natural  condition  of  matter, 
so  models  his  forms  that  they  also  tell  the  story  of 
their  functions;  and  these  functions  are  always  me- 


224 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


chanical  conditions  of  strength,  elegance,  and  repose, 
in  combinations  of  various  quantities  of  these  proper- 
ties. The  fundamental  principle  of  the  modelling  of 
architectural  forms  is  therefore  mechanical. 

This  brings  us  face  to  face  with  an  architectural 
question :  "  What  are  the  relations  of  architectural  art 
and  mechanical  construction  ? "  which  has  in  its  time 
created  much  interest  in  a  prolonged  controversy.  A 
large  number  of  modern  architects  hold  that  the  con- 
struction of  a  building  relates  merely  to  the  personal 
convenience  of  its  occupants,  and  to  certain  mechanical 
laws  well  known  to  engineers,  which  insure  the  stabil- 
ity of  the  structure ;  but  that  all  this,  though  of  eco- 
nomical and  scientific  importance,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  architecture  proper,  which  is  an  art  that  deals 
with  the  decoration  of  the  structure  outside  and  inside, 
which  decoration  alone  is  the  art  work,  and  that  which 
makes  the  building  beautiful.  This  is  the  view  taken 
by  Ruskin  and  his  followers ;  and  hence  his  great  desire 
that  architects  should  be  sculptors  and  decorators,  and 
leave  mathematics  and  mechanics  to  vulgar  engineers 
and  builders.  Others  again  say  that  the  architect 
should  know  something  of  building,  to  be  sure ;  but 
inasmuch  as  the  masses  used  in  architectural  monu- 
ments should  be  inordinately  large  when  compared 
with  the  masses  which  might  be  needed  for  mere  tech- 
nical perfection  of  mechanical  work,  it  is  hardly  ne- 
cessary that  the  architect  should  enter  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  construction  any  further  than  is  required  to 
insure  safety  and  convenience,  and  that  he  may  dele- 
gate the  whole  subject  to  some  clever  builder  or  engi- 
neer, and  begin  his  work  when  that  of  the  builder  is 
finished. 


DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  225 


Another  school  of  architects  insists  that  methods  of 
construction,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  are  an  element  of 
architectural  art.  They  cannot  shut  their  eyes  to  the 
fact  that  the  whole  evolution  of  mediaeval  architecture, 
as  it  culminated  in  the  great  cathedrals  of  the  thir- 
teenth century,  is  one  of  progress  in  methods  of  con- 
struction, and  that  all  forms  in  late  mediaeval  art  may 
be  directly  traced  to  mechanical  results  of  the  vaulted 
roof. 

Others  go  still  further.  They  maintain  that  the 
physical  organization  of  a  structure  determines  its 
form,  and  that  form  is  an  aesthetic  element  not  to 
be  ignored.  The  majority  of  practising  architects 
and  late  writers  on  architectural  art,  however,  deny 
that  architectural  forms  have  any  relation  whatever 
to  construction;  that  forms  which  satisfy  the  engi- 
neer do  not  please  the  architect,  and  that  he  may 
change  them,  therefore,  in  mass  and  in  their  model- 
ling ;  that  he  may  entirely  ignore  the  actual  construc- 
tion, and  overlay  it  with  forms  of  another  construction 
which  serve  as  a  mask  to  the  real  construction;  and 
that  his  forms,  as  he  may  choose  to  select  and  combine 
them,  although  they  doubtless  originated  in  methods 
of  construction,  are  constructive  elements  no  longer, 
but  pretty  things  arbitrarily  combined  to  gratify  indi- 
vidual whims  (taste  they  call  it),  producing  lights  and 
shadows,  to  look  beautiful,  artistic,  and  odd — forms 
which  shall  appear  to  be  something,  but  which  are  in 
reality  nothing.  In  the  whole  range  of  architectural 
literature  we  find  it  nowhere  developed,  or  even  stated, 
how  this  work  of  combining  forms,  which  at  one 
time  meant  something,  but  which  now  means  nothing, 

is  to  be  carried  on.    There  is  no  school  in  existence 
15 


226  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


which  teaches  the  proper  use  of  old  forms,  or  a 
possible  development  of  new  forms.  Each  man  is  to 
govern  himself  in  this  matter  as  he  pleases ;  he  shall 
work  for  effects,  grand  effects,  striking  effects,  palatial 
effects,  homely  effects,  and  grotesque  effects.  These 
effects  are  not  results  of  special  causes  which  may  be- 
come positively  known,  but  attempts  to  present  some- 
thing which  is  not ;  to  produce  a  sham,  an  untruth,  by 
means  of  individual  enterprise.  The  effort  of  man  to 
create  things  in  imitation  of  his  Maker  is  henceforth 
to  be  a  pretence  and  a  svdndle ;  a  collection  of  second- 
hand properties  which  may  be  palmed  off  upon  a  cred- 
ulous and  ignorant  audience  as  real  things  by  an  un- 
scrupulous scene-shifter.  And  so  they  are  palmed  off 
upon  a  gullible  public,  sharing  the  fate  of  all  such  de- 
ceptions— a  momentary  success  and  then  eternal  con- 
tempt. Hence  architects  change  their  forms  and  com- 
binations of  forms  from  day  to  day,  to  make  up  by 
novelty  what  is  lacking  in  truth.  And  thus  architec- 
ture has  ceased  to  be  an  art  and  has  become  a  fashion. 

We  may  be  sure  of  a  truthful  and  exact  answer  to 
the  question,  "  What  are  the  relations  of  mechanical 
construction  to  architectural  art  ? "  if  we  conscien- 
tiously examine,  not  the  quibbles  of  the  schools,  nor  the 
authorities  of  past  practice,  but  the  nature  of  architec- 
ture as  a  fine  art. 

Architecture  deals  with  ideas,  and  with  ideas  only. 
In  the  forming  of  a  structure,  it  attempts  to  depict  the 
soul  of  the  structure,  not  merely  to  minister  to  the 
physical  wants  of  its  occupants.  It  further  deals  with 
physical  wants,  not  perhaps  as  elements  of  fine  art,  but 
as  important  motives  in  transferring  to  a  structure  acts 
which  may  not  well  be  performed  elsewhere.  And  when 


DEFINITION  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


227 


architecture  is  considered  from  a  purely  artistic  stand- 
point, viz.,  as  a  fine  art,  it  deals  with  forms  which 
are  primarily  the  result  of  physical  necessity;  and, 
secondarily,  with  the  substance  which  is  needed  to  ex- 
press the  idea.  Can  we  analyze  the  relations  of  con- 
struction and  architecture,  or  may  we  determine  that 
there  is  no  relation  between  the  two  ? 

The  answer  to  this  question  must  be  reserved  for  a 
special  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


IDEAS. 

J 

The  observed  relation  of  matter  is  an  idea.  That 
"  water  is  a  fluidj'^  is  a  statement  of  its  relation  to  other 
matter  which  is  solid,  hence  an  idea.  An  idea  may  be 
the  result  of  our  own  personal  observation,  or  it  may 
be  communicated  to  us  by  others  who  have  seen  the 
matter  in  relation.  In  the  latter  case,  we  derive  our 
knowledge  not  by  seeing  for  ourselves  the  matter  in 
question,  but  by  the  substitution  of  other  matter 
which  we  have  seen.  For  instance,  we  may  be  told 
that  chloroform  is  fluid  and  colorless.  Our  idea  of 
chloroform  would,  in  that  case,  be  derived  from  water, 
alcohol,  or  any  other  colorless  fluid.  Yet  we  all  know 
that  upon  a  personal  visual  examination  of  chloroform, 
a  person  skilled  in  observing  would  discover  a  sufficient 
specific  character  in  chloroform  which  will  enable  him 
subsequently  to  distinguish  it  from  alcohol  or  water. 
We  never  know  more  than  we  have  perceived  with 
our  senses ;  hence  it  may  be  said  that  all  ideas  are  the 
result  of  sensuous  perception.  The  definition  of  the 
idea,  viz.,  a  perceived  relation  of  matter,  determines  its 
value.  Defective  observation  and  defective  comparison 
will  produce  a  defective  idea.  A  sensuous  perception 
of  isolated  matter  conveys  no  idea;  a  comparison  is 
necessary  with  other  matter  observed  at  some  time.  The 
228 


IDEAS. 


229 


motion  of  matter  constitutes  an  idea ;  but  motion  re- 
fers to  a  material  point  outside  of  the  matter  observed. 
In  tbe  revolution  of  a  body  around  its  axis,  a  material 
separation  of  that  axis  from  the  rest  of  the  body  be- 
comes necessary  to  convey  an  idea. 

Mathematical  and  geometrical  analyses  refer  not  to 
special  matter,  but  to  any  body  whatever  in  certain  re- 
lation, or  to  the  boundaries  of  matter,  or  its  surfaces. 

Space  and  time  have  been  cited  as  ideas  abstract 
from  matter ;  but  Leibnitz  has  defined  space  and  time 
as  confused  ideas  of  the  relation  of  matter  in  co-exist- 
ence and  succession. 

Speculations  on  the  infinite  and  immaterial  are  held 
to  be  mental  efforts  not  preceded  by  sensuous  percep- 
tion. Unfortunately  these  speculations  refer  to  terms 
and  not  to  ideas.  An  idea  must  be  defined  before  it 
can  be  recognized  as  such,  and  definition  always  in- 
volves matter.  The  argument  upon  the  infinite  and 
immaterial  seeks  its  hypothesis  in  the  finite  and  ma- 
terial. These  terms  have  been  paired  in  that  order  so 
frequently  that  they  have  attained  popular  currency 
in  this  relation.  Unfortunately  matter  is  not  finite. 
There  is  no  truth  better  established  than  that  matter 
is  indestructible.  The  only  thing  which  is  known  to 
be  finite  is,  in  truth,  not  a  thing  at  all,  but  a  condition 
of  things,  a  relation  of  matter,  the  only  subject  which 
can  possibly  become  the  basis  of  an  idea. 

A  relation  of  matter  may  form  a  hypothesis  from 
which  by  sound  argument  other  relations  of  matter 
may  be  deduced,  but  the  immaterial  must  remain  out- 
side of  any  possible  chain  of  argument  which  can  lead 
to  an  idea. 

Ideas  relating  to  virtue,  vice  (positive  and  negative 


230  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


morality),  comprising  relations  of  man  to  his  fellow- 
man,  to  the  community,  to  himself,  to  God,  the  State 
and  the  Church,  are  all  traceable  to  a  solicitude  for  the 
preservation  and  continuance  of  human  life  and  its 
subordinate  sources,  such  as  property,  liberty,  human 
rights,  government,  etc.,  which,  when  closely  considered, 
mean  the  human  desire  to  perpetuate  life,  a  relation  of 
matter  which  is  the  basis  of  man's  identity.  The  de- 
sire for  immortality  is  nothing  more  than  the  solicitude 
that  our  identity  may  not  be  lost  hereafter.  This  iden- 
tity, again,  is  known  to  us  only  as  the  relation  of  the 
matter  which  enters  into  the  composition  of  our  body. 
Hence  it  is  that  no  reference  to  our  continuance  here- 
^  after  can  be  intelligibly  formulated  beyond  this  con- 
dition of  identity  which  we  know  only  as  a  relation  of 
matter. 

Whatever  we  observe  by  means  of  our  senses  may  be 
subsequently  recalled  by  what  is  kno^vn  as  the  faculty 
of  the  memory,  which  is  held  to  be  a  property  of  the 
mind  or  the  soul.  Eeflection  is  also  named  as  a  func- 
tion of  the  soul ;  but  analysis  does  not  show  it  to  be 
anything  more  than  the  process  of  recalling  previous 
sensuous  impressions  by  virtue  of  our  memory  and 
comparing  them. 

Sensuous  impressions  are  more  or  less  perfect,  accord- 
ing to  accuracy  of  observation.  The  j)ictures  we  recall 
by  force  of  memory  never  exceed  in  accuracy  the 
original  impressions;  but  are  frequently  defaced  by 
other  subsequent  impressions  and  by  the  action  of 
time. 

Recent  progress  in  science  explains  the  processes  of 
sensuous  perception  up  to  that  point  where  the  nerves 
communicate  sensation  to  the  nerve-centers.    Of  the 


IDEAS. 


231 


nerve  process  itself,  we  know  nothing;  nor  can  we 
possibly  form  any  idea  of  how  consciousness  of  what 
we  see,  hear,  feel,  smell,  or  taste,  is  communicated  to 
the  soul — a  process  involving  the  action  of  matter  upon 
what  is  not  matter.  That  the  soul,  an  entity  without 
matter,  commands  the  action  of  matter,  has  been 
universally  taken  for  granted,  without  satisfactory 
explanation  of  the  converse,  that  the  soul  may  be,  and 
necessarily  in  this  way  is,  affected  by  matter.  What  is 
more,  the  deterioration  of  mental  impressions  by  time 
partakes  so  sensibly  of  a  defect  peculiar  to  mere  matter 
that  it  must  become  doubtful  whether  the  function  of 
memory  is  not  purely  an  affection  of  matter,  a  succes- 
sion of  organic  changes  in  the  nerve-centers,  which  may 
coexist  without  materially  obliterating  each  other,  some- 
what in  the  manner  of  the  passing  of  various  currents 
of  electricity  through  the  same  wire,  the  intersection 
of  large  and  small  waves  on  the  surface  of  water,  or 
the  sound  vibrations  of  a  string  in  the  case  of  over 
tones. 

It  becomes  no  man  either  to  originate  or  to  accept 
attributes  of  the  Deity  or  the  soul  which  involve  either 
in  the  weaknesses  and  defects  to  which  matter  is  sub- 
ject ;  and  we  may  prove  our  appreciation  of  the  im- 
mortal part  of  man  by  referring  the  function  of  memory 
to  a  condition  of  nerve  and  brain  matter. 

The  functions  of  the  nerve-centers  and  the  brain,  in 
comparing  sensuous  perceptions,  in  recalling  them  by 
force  of  memory,  and  in  directing  muscular  action,  are 
now  positively  known  to  consume  time  (a  mechanical 
condition),  and  to  influence  the  circulation  in  the  effort 
to  renew  nerve  matter  consumed  (or,  better,  changed), 
and  the  magnitude  of  both  the  time  consumed  and  the 


232 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


extent  of  the  change  of  circulation  have  been  experi- 
mentally determined.  Hence  no  doubt  can  remain  as 
to  the  material  nature  of  thought. 

All  relations  of  matter  in  which  man  has  an  active 
part  by  virtue  of  the  exercise  of  his  will,  are  termed 
ethical  ideas.  They  are  the  great  storehouse  from 
which  art  draws  its  material,  since  art  has  at  all  times 
served  as  an  instructor  to  man  by  illustrating  prin- 
ciples of  morality.  Man  has  two  sources  from  which 
he  derives  knowledge,  the  brain  and  the  heart.  This 
is  the  figurative,  the  poetical  way  of  expressing  the 
distinction  made  by  Baumgarten  between  conceptive 
knowledge — the  clear  understanding  which  follows 
logical  demonstration — and  confused  knowledge — ^the 
result  of  sensuous  perception  which  follows  the  ex- 
amination of  works  of  art  and  of  nature. 

That  the  heart  plays  a  part  in  conceptive  knowledge 
is  not  entirely  a  figure  of  speech,  and  this  fact  deserves 
closer  examination.  The  heart  is  the  pendulum  of  the 
circulation,  with  which  it  beats  in  unison.  The  circu- 
lation of  the  blood  is  subject  to  material  variation  in 
consequence  of  emotions.  There  are  emotions  which 
will  make  the  heart  beat  faster,  and  others  which  will 
cause  it  to  stand  still. 

Now  art,  as  we  have  seen  in  a  former  chapter,  deals 
exclusively  with  emotions,  and  contemplates  them  ar- 
rested at  a  given  point  of  their  development.  The 
idea,  as  it  were,  serves  in  this  case  as  the  hypothesis, 
the  act  as  the  argument,  and  the  emotion  as  the  con- 
clusion. 

In  works  of  art  or  of  nature  we  are  presented  with 
a  condition  of  the  object  at  the  conclusion ;  and  al- 
though we  may  afterwards  reflect  upon  the  argument 


IDEAS. 


233 


and  the  hypothesis,  the  upshot — the  final  result  of  the 
information — is  placed  in  our  hands  at  once.  It  is  pre- 
sented in  the  form  of  an  emotion  which  claims  our 
sympathy,  and  spares  us  the  mental  effort  which  ac- 
companies argument ;  hence  we  arrive  more  quickly 
at  a  conclusion,  but  remain  in  the  same  degree  ignorant 
of  the  nature  of  the  analysis.  This  is  what  Baum- 
garten  justly  calls  confused  knowledge ;  a  sort  of 
knowledge  which  promptly  but  not  quite  effectually 
disposes  of  the  case  in  hand.  Hence  it  is  that  the  in- 
fluences of  art  and  nature,  to  Be  of  material  benefit  to 
man,  must  be  frequent,  and,  if  possible,  constant,  in 
their  operation.  We  should  take  care,  therefore,  that 
ideas  of  life  should  find  expression  in  every  human  act 
and  in  all  objects  which  constitute  our  surroundings ; 
that  all  functions  performed  by  man,  no  matter  how 
humble,  shall  be  performed  with  a  decent  regard  to 
their  moral  import  as  well  as  to  their  physical  nature. 

To  clothe  ourselves  does  not  mean  to  cover  our 
nakedness  merely,  or  to  protect  ourselves  against  the 
inclemency  of  the  weather,  but  to  give  expression  to 
the  human  form,  which  never  fails  to  respond  to  our 
emotions,  in  order  that  these  emotions  may  continue 
to  be  perceptible,  that  they  may  restrain  the  subject 
within  the  limits  of  moral  propriety,  and  may  serve  as 
an  example  to  others.  Immorality,  by  a  law  of  nature, 
seeks  concealment.  Art  should  tend  to  the  reverse  of 
this,  to  constant  expression.  A  man  enveloped  in  the 
modem  fashionable  attire  cannot  be  joyous  or  serious, 
affectionate  or  angry,  affable  or  dignified  in  any  degree, 
without  becoming  in  a  greater  degree  ridiculous. 
Dancing,  which  is  a  metrical  movement  to  express 
human  emotions,  has,  under  the  influence  of  modem 


234 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


dress,  degenerated  into  an  unmeaning  contortion  and 
monotonous  race.  It  lias  ceased  to  be  possible  to  range 
men  and  women  in  poetic  groups  without  first  endow- 
ing tbem  with  a  fitting  costume.  A  procession  of  men 
in  dress-coats  and  pantaloons  never  surpasses  the  dig- 
nity of  symmetrically  arranged  scarecrows.  We  can- 
not walk,  or  dance,  or  sit,  or  kneel,  without  appearing 
absurd ;  hence  we  have  abandoned  physical  action,  and 
utter  sentiment  or  wisdom  with  a  sardonic  smile  which 
must  freeze  the  most  enthusiastic  audience  into  con- 
tempt for  anything  outside  of  mathematical  demon- 
stration, or  the  statistic  arrangement  of  facts  in  tabular 
statements.  The  conventional  forms  in  which  the  hair 
and  beard  are  now  worn  have  done  more  to  destroy 
the  poetry  of  life,  and  have  been  a  greater  hindrance 
to  art  development  and  morality  than  selfishness,  greed, 
and  native  meanness.  If  art  is  to  become  a  living 
principle  in  so-called  civilized  countries,  as  it  has  been 
heretofore  among  the  so-called  heathens  of  Greece  and 
Eome,  among  the  Egyptians,  the  Hindoos,  and  Japan- 
ese, or  among  the  Christians  of  the  middle  ages,  we 
must  begin  by  reconstructing  our  dress  upon  art  prin- 
ciples. 

It  is  said  of  the  Eoman  Senate  that  it  resembled  an 
^  assembly  of  kings.  Who  will  say  the  same  of  the 
British  Parliament  or  of  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States  ?  Many  members  of  both  these  bodies  may  be 
better  fitted  to  be  kings  than  most  of  those  we  read  of 
in  history;  but  do  they  or  their  compeers  look,  act, 
dress,  talk,  and  bear  themselves  like  kings  ?  No,  in- 
deed ;  and  why  not  ?  Because  it  is  the  affectation  of 
the  times  to  despise  everything  that  pertains  to  mere 
form.    We  have  seen  the  hoUo^vness  of  appearances, 


IDEAS. 


235 


of  dress,  of  manners,  of  form  of  all  kinds ;  and  we  will 
have  none  of  it. 

This  high-sounding  bit  of  philosophy  will  not  stand 
the  test  of  examination.  It  is  only  the  repetition  of 
Plato's  contempt  for  matter ;  but  Carlyle  tells  us  "  that 
matter  is  a  thing  greater  than  man,  a  thing  not  to  be 
comprehended  by  him,  it  is  an  infinite  thing."  Can 
the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  divest  himself 
of  matter  ?  Can  he  present  himself  to  us  without  form  ? 
And  why,  pray,  shall  he  prefer  the  form  of  a  jockey  to 
that  of  a  king?  Are  the  dandies  and  the  doubtful 
women  of  Paris  infallible  authorities  to  decide  for  us 
the  form  in  which  God  should  have  made  man  when 
he  did  not. 

Wisdom  may  not  be  unfavorably  affected  by  slouchy 
habits  and  awkward  gait,  or  the  unimpassioned  droning 
which  takes  the  place  of  speech ;  but  it  is  a  serious 
and  all-important  question  whether  morality  does  not 
suffer  from  the  unpoetical  habits  of  the  age.  A  man 
will  commit  a  mean  act  under  the  influence  of  mean 
surroundings ;  and  even  Diogenes*  might  have  been  a 
better  man  in  a  decent  cottage  than  in  a  tub,  for  the 
simple  aesthetic  reason  that  a  tub  in  its  form  and  con- 
struction represents  a  receptacle  of  fluids ;  while  man, 
considered  as  matter,  must  be  classed  with  the  solids. 

The  moral  effect  of  art  expression  becomes  greatest, 
however,  when  contemplated  in  its  influence  upon  the 
masses. 

If  Parliament  met  upon  a  secluded  island,  and  the 
members  were  all  philosophers,  they  might  in  dress 
and  habit  neglect  all  outward  expression,  and  stand  like 
animated  milestones  when  they  address  the  Speaker. 
But  when  we  consider  that  the  wisdom  of  the  legis- 


236 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


lator  becomes  apparent  to  tlie  masses  more  by  Ms 
manner  than  the  substance  he  utters,  that  the  people 
recognize  the  merit  of  an  ambassador  or  prime  minister 
not  from  what  he  has  accomplished,  but  from  the  fact 
that  he  has  been  made  a  Knight  of  the  Garter,  a  duke, 
or  an  earl,  the  necessity  of  outward  material  demon- 
stration of  art  influence  in  all  acts  which  are  of  public 
import  becomes  evident. 

Abstract  knowledge  is  a  limited  sphere  of  bright, 
brilliant,  white  light,  which  sends  its  rays  far  into  a 
dense  and  moist  atmosphere,  where,  by  aberration,  re- 
flection, and  refraction  those  beautiful  colored  light- 
pictures  are  produced  which  we  see  at  the  rise  and 
setting  of  the  sun,  and  which  constitute  the  light  of  art, 
the  mystic  knowledge  of  the  people.  You  cannot, 
as  some  philosophers  would  have  it,  force  those  direct 
rays  beyond  a  certain  limit,  and  you  cannot  collect 
humanity  within  that  narrow  limit  of  pure  white  light. 
Why  then  build  up  an  artificial  screen  and  deprive  the 
mind  of  the  masses  of  that  charming  sea  of  floating 
colored  and  silver  clouds,  wherein  they  see  a  glimmer 
of  the  light  of  their  being,  simply  because  they  cannot 
see  the  light  itself  ? 

And  so  the  Church  of  to-day  has  weakened  its  influ- 
ence with  a  sham  appearance  of  stoical  philosophy. 

The  statesman  may  say,  with  some  show  of  justice, 
that  he  deals  with  the  white  light  of  political  economy, 
that  his  arithmetical  figures  and  tabular  statistics  need 
not  the  poetical  help  of  art  to  become  ^dsible  to  his 
brother  statesmen;  and  that  the  masses  never  will  un- 
derstand these  in  spite  of  all  the  pictures  he  may  paint 
in  gorgeous  array,  in  processions,  in  gi'ouping,  and  in 
declamation. 


IDEAS. 


237 


True,  this  is  unsound  reasoning,  because  tlie  people 
may  be  made  to  respect  wliat  they  but  dimly  under- 
stand, and  morality  may  be  the  gainer  by  it.  But  can 
the  priest  hold  the  same  argument  ?  Can  he  say  that  he 
deals  with  pure  logical  demonstration,  or  that  it  is  not 
important  that  the  masses  should  know  that  which  he 
presents  to  them  as  clearly  as  he  does  himseK  ?  Are 
not  faith,  dogma,  and  rites  in  themselves  pure  and  un- 
adulterated art,  which,  in  mystic  form  and  high-wrought 
colors,  concentrate  the  vivid  rays  seen  only  by  Brahma, 
by  Moses,  and  the  Son  of  God  ?  Shall  we  not  picture 
Him  crucified,  and  yet  believe  in  transubstantiation  ? 
Shall  we  not  carry  in  procession  the  likeness  of  the 
Mother  of  God,  while  we  are  called  upon  to  believe  in 
the  Holy  Ghost  ?  Are  we  to  cease  worshipping  the 
saints  because  they  are  mere  men,  and  confess  our  faith 
in  the  Trinity  ?  If  the  poetic  expression  of  human 
emotion  is  to  be  abolished  because  it  appeals  directly 
to  a  figure  in  stone,  why,  then,  let  us  condemn  the 
stone,  but  substitute  something  more  fitting  to  sustain 
the  emotion.  If  saints  will  not  do,  nor  the  gods  of  the 
harvest,  then  take  the  harvest  itself  and  carry  it  in 
procession — flowers  and  sheaves  and  fruit — anything 
in  the  shape  of  matter  which  will  express  an  idea,  and 
which  will  move  men's  hearts.  Do  you  think  that 
men  can  be  moved  to  morality,  piety,  or  religion  in  any 
form  by  lounging  in  soft-cushioned  pews  and  listening 
to  a  sermon  ?  Do  you  know  what  these  men  and 
women  are  doing  while  they  appear  to  listen  to  your 
words  ?  They  are  either  thinking  of  something  which 
interests  them  more,  or  they  are  weighing  in  a  critical 
balance  the  amount  of  erudition  and  natural  ability 
which  is  contained  in  your  literary  performance,  and 


238 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


remotely,  perhaps,  whether  its  market  value  is  up  to  the 
standard  of  your  salary.  Gather  up  all  these  thoughts, 
ye  architects,  and  see  what  sort  of  a  monument  will 
express  them  in  matter. 

It  may  be  asked  here,  Are  the  clergy  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  ignorant  of  the  emotional  elements  of 
religion  and  art  ?  Are  pastors  of  Christian  churches 
indifferent  to  the  true  interests  of  their  charge  ?  Are 
they  indisposed  to  do  the  right  thing  when  they 
know  it  ? 

Architecture  is  indebted  to  the  church  of  all  ages 
for  its  existence  as  a  fine  art,  and  it  may  be  stated  as 
a  rule  that  the  priesthoods  of  all  nations  are  the  true 
patrons  of  architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  and,  indi- 
rectly, of  music.  The  clergymen  of  the  present  day, 
taken  as  a  class,  have,  in  the  turmoil  of  business, 
of  politics,  and  of  scientific  pursuits,  and  in  spite  of 
the  pressing  necessities  of  worldly  competition,  pre- 
served a  loyal  interest  in  what  is  true  and  good,  inde- 
pendent of  all  immediate  results,  and  in  a  measure  far 
beyond  any  other  class  of  professional  men.  The  pas- 
tors of  Christian  churches  of  the  present  day  are  en- 
dowed with  a  general  education  superior  to  that  pos- 
sessed by  the  priesthood  of  any  other  people  and  of 
any  other  time.  Their  devotion  to  the  task  which  they 
undertake,  their  conscientiousness  in  the  means  selected 
to  carry  it  out,  a  strict  morality,  and  a  pure  life,  cannot 
be  denied  them.  But  yet  this  en\aable  condition  of 
things  brings  with  it,  like  all  other  human  conditions, 
its  own  peculiar  difficulties  and  defects. 

Liberal  education  has  so  far  removed  the  priest  from 
the  people  that  he  cannot  clearly  see  how  absolutely 
his  parishioners  are  dependent  for  their  education  upon 

\ 


IDEAS. 


239 


the  confused  knowledge  afforded  by  art ;  lie  is  led  to 
think  logical  methods  quite  sufficient  to  ground  and 
maintain  them  in  the  dogmas  of  faith  as  still  held  by 
the  church,  and  to  sustain  habits  of  morality,  zeal,  and 
conscientiousness,  without  the  aid  of  that  poetry  which 
will  make  it  an  outcome  of  the  heart,  rather  than  the 
conviction  of  the  head.  The  priest  has  learned  enough 
of  logical  deduction  to  doubt  that  others  need  any 
other  help  to  carry  them  to  the  goal  of  ethical  perfec- 
tion, and  yet  not  enough  successfully  to  convert  the 
pulpit  into  a  rostrum,  and  the  church  of  God  into  a 
theatre  of  learning. 

Standing  at  the  circumference  of  the  great  circle  of 
white  light,  privileged  to  look  within  and  without, 
undetermined  on  which  side  of  this  boundary  his  lot 
is  cast,  he  occupies  the  singular  and  doubtful  position 
of  combating  art  as  a  detriment  to  religion,  and  science 
as  a  contradiction  to  it.  Trained  in  practical  life  by 
the  reforming  tendencies  of  the  times,  he  has  acquired 
a  habit  of  protesting,  and  has  educated  himself  into  a 
militant  against  thought  on  the  one  side,  because  it  is 
supposed  to  endanger  his  system,  and  against  poetic 
development  on  the  other,  because  he  wishes  to  purify 
that  same  system.  Resolved  to  wipe  from  the  memory 
of  men  what  he  terms  the  superstitions  of  the  church, 
by  banishing  every  physical  demonstration,  every  po- 
etic act  which  may  remind  man  of  the  hated  dogma, 
or  which  may  foster  affection  for  condemned  practices, 
he  has  forgotten  to  replace  these  material  incentives 
to  religious  emotion  by  others  better  suited  to  his  pur- 
pose ;  and  in  his  zeal  to  tear  down  he  has  omitted  to 
build  up  again ;  and  now  finds  himself  houseless,  and 
without  shelter,  exposed  to  the  burning  rays  of  the 


240 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


light  of  science,  and  the  pitiless  chill  and  sleet  of  pop 
ular  indifference. 

A  large  and  very  respectable  class  of  modem  clergy- 
men are  strongly  convinced  that  all  this  is  wrong,  and 
yet  have  not  arrived  at  that  point  where  such  a  con- 
viction leads  conscientious  minds  to  the  right.  Con- 
servative habits  prompt  them  not  to  a  radical  recon- 
sideration of  the  subject,  but  to  a  sighing  for  the  flesh- 
pots  of  EgyjDt,  and  a  return  to  the  ecclesiastical  forms 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  Opposed  to  forms  of  one 
kind,  because  they  express  something  in  which  they 
have  no  faith,  they  seek  forms  of  another  kind  which 
express  precisely  the  same  thing,  deceiving  themselves 
into  the  belief  that  these  forms,  after  all,  mean  nothing 
in  particular. 

What  is  the  Church  to  do  under  the  circumstances  ? 
Like  a  prudent  general,  it  must  first  of  all  reconnoitre 
the  position  of  the  enemy,  and  then  boldly  resolve 
upon  and  occupy  its  own.  Religion  means  instruc- 
tion,— an  answer  to  various  metaphysical  and  ethical 
inquiries.  The  text-book  of  Christian  instruction,  the 
Bible,  contains  no  metaphysical  reasoning  in  explana- 
tion of  our  being,  the  existence  of  the  Deity,  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul,  or  to  prove  the  rationale  of  the 
moral  precepts  enjoined.  The  passages  devoted  to  the 
law,  to  rules  of  life,  are  very  short  and  of  rare  occur- 
rence. The  mass  of  the  work  may  be  pronounced  to 
be  a  poetic  history,  painted  in  word-pictures,  which 
point  a  moral  lesson. 

Many  of  the  precepts  contained  in  the  books  of  Moses 
are  set  aside  by  the  New  Testament ;  and  the  latter  con- 
tains parables  which  are  avowed  to  be  merely  instruc- 
tive, and  which  have  been  variously  interpreted.  Indeed 


IDEAS. 


241 


the  whole  work  is  received  by  us  in  tlie  sense  accepted 
by  various  commentators,  and  its  interpretation  lias  un- 
dergone changes  vdthin  the  limit  of  the  times  of  mod- 
ern Protestantism.  Christian  nations  accept  it  as  a 
fundamental  law,  which  shall  govern  every  individual ; 
and  necessarily,  also,  the  State.  We  find,  however,  the 
criminal  code  of  England  to  have  abolished  the  death 
penalty  for  forgery  and  theft,  with  the  approval,  or  at 
least  the  acquiescence  of  the  Church,  though  it  does 
not  appear  that  the  Christian  clergy  protested  against 
these  laws  during  a  continuance  of  many  hundred 
years.  Recent  geological  research  has  changed  the 
interpretation  given  to  the  history  of  the  creation  as 
contained  in  Genesis,  and  various  astronomical  facts 
are  readily  accepted  by  the  Church,  though  they  have 
been  heretofore  contradicted  by  reason  of  certain  pas- 
sages of  the  Scriptures.  It  is  now  admitted  as  a  rule, 
that  the  terms  in  which  various  phenomena  are  treated 
in  biblical  history,  are  adapted  to  the  special  popular 
knowledge  of  the  times ;  and  mean,  in  fact,  not  what 
is  there  stated,  but  what  may,  at  any  time,  be  the  ac- 
cepted explanation  of  those  phenomena. 

To  look  at  religion  from  a  stand-point  outside  of 
Christianity  and  the  Bible,  we  must  be  convinced  that 
it  has  always  existed  for  the  purpose  of  answering  man's 
questions  asked  of  nature,  and  of  regulating  his  actions. 
This  purpose  it  has  answered  at  all  times,  though  it 
has  itself  changed  in  form  and  substance.  Thousands 
have  died  the  most  cruel  deaths  upon  the  scaffold ; 
thousands  more  in  the  wars  waged  to  maintain  re- 
ligion in  its  existing  forms.  Yet  it  has  changed  and 
will  continue  to  change  until  the  end  of  time;  yet 
man  respects  its  function  in  life,  and  obeys  its  pre- 

16 


242 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


cepts;  and  these  are  ever  the  same,  and  ever  will 
be. 

The  means  of  religion  to  make  itself  understood, 
obeyed,  and  respected,  is  art,  and  art  alone.  The 
means  to  modify,  and  perpetuate,  and  adapt  it  to  man's 
condition,  his  state  of  knowledge,  is  again  art.  It  has 
no  enemies  but  in  its  conservative  advocates,  who 
cannot  comprehend  the  necessity  of  change  in  a  sys- 
tem which  they  have  received  as  final  and  immutable, 
in  spite  of  the  facts  that  history  is  mainly  the  history 
of  former  changes,  as  future  history  will  be  of  the 
changes  of  the  present  time,  and  that  it  depends  en- 
tirely upon  ourselves  whether  these  changes  shall  or 
shall  not'  be  accompanied  with  war,  and  bloodshed, 
and  human  suffering;  or  whether  we  may  not,  by  hold- 
ing on  to  the  substance  of  human  morality,  and  to  the 
means  of  human  art,  and  to  the  conditions  of  human 
intelligence,  make  religion  still  the  great  lever  and 
constructor  of  human  happiness. 

The  priesthood  of  the  Christian  Church  is  sensitive 
to  every  theory  advanced  in  science,  for  fear  that  it 
may  contradict  some  innocent  simile  in  the  Bible. 
Now  geography,  natural  history,  botany,  chemistry, 
are  all  positive  sciences ;  yet  no  one  would  be  startled 
to  learn  that  an  error  had  been  found  in  the  latitude 
of  the  Fiji  Islands,  or  in  the  classification  of  certain 
crabs  or  algae.  When  these  corrections  come  well 
authenticated,  they  are  cheerfully  adopted  at  once. 
But  yet,  if  they  should  be  errors,  no  one  is  angry  or 
f lightened ;  no  one  will  dream  of  collecting  all  the 
school-books  which  contain  these  errors  and  burning 
them;  no  one  will  even  prohibit  their  circulation. 
The  moment  they  are  convicted  of  errors,  they  simply 


IDEAS. 


243 


drop  in  market  value,  and  drift  qnietly  into  the  paper- 
mill. 

The  substance  of  religion  is  contained  in  its  art  work. 
Illustrations  of  human  existence,  of  human  relation  to 
the  universe,  and  of  the  moral  conduct  of  man,  are 
painted  in  word-pictures  to  express  the  metaphysical 
thought  of  a  certain  time.  For  instance,  the  rule  of 
"  eye  for  eye,"  and  limb  for  limb,  is  no  doubt  a  proper 
precept  in  troublous  times,  say  while  a  nation  is  on  the 
move,  emigrating  to  a  new  country,  and  of  necessity 
under  the  discipline  of  martial  law.  Change  the  con- 
dition, as  when  the  same  nation  lives  under  a  strong 
and  effective  government,  like  that  of  the  Eomans  of 
the  time  of  Christ,  supplied  with  all  the  paraphernalia 
of  public  surveillance,  a  standing  army,  well-organized 
criminal  courts,  etc.,  then  the  other  precept,  of  the 
"turning  of  the  left  cheek,"  may  be  the  better  rule  of 
conduct  for  the  simple  citizen.  There  is  not  a  poem 
or  a  novel  written  at  the  present  day  wherein  are  not 
introduced,  to  the  great  moral  edification  of  the  reader, 
divers  heroic  characters  who  exemplify  precisely  the 
same  opposite  views  of  propriety  of  conduct  without 
giving  umbrage  to  the  most  fastidious  critic.  What  is 
demanded  of  literary  art  work  is  that  heroes  shall  be 
painted  with  truth  to  nature,  and  in  imitation  of  her 
laws  and  principles.  You  cannot  go  amiss ;  you  may 
paint  an  honest  man  or  a  thief,  and  the  result  will  be 
a  lesson  on  the  side  of  morality.  But  a  previous  con- 
dition is,  that  you  must  painty  you  must  produce  a 
work  of  art,  or  else  your  effort  is  a  failure. 

The  Church  also  must  paint ;  it  must  present  ideas 
in  matter.  Its  matter  is  the  congregation,  the  clergy 
who  lead  the  service,  the  choir  which  conducts  the 


244 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


music.  All  these  may  be  used  more  or  less  in  the 
performance  which  is  to  be  the  act  illustrative  of  the 
idea. 

The  ideas  of  religion  are  immutable ;  they  are  the 
relation  of  man  to  God  and  his  fellow-men.  The  acts 
are  changeable — the  worship  of  the  sun,  the  sacrifice 
upon  the  altar,  the  libation,  the  partaking  of  the  sacra- 
ment. Think  for  a  moment  of  this  last  simple  act  of 
pious  men  who  break  the  bread  and  drink  the  wine  in 
commemoration  of  their  communion  with  Christ.  What 
a  magnificent  picture,  when,  qn  the  sounding  of  the 
sanctus  bell,  the  congregation  kneels  in  momentary 
silence !  You  are  not  in  favor  of  the  continuance  of 
this  great  emotional  performance  ;  you  dislike  it  be- 
cause it  is  the  invention  of  a  set  of  men  who,  some 
hundreds  of  years  after  its  institution,  were  convicted 
of  the  heinous  crime  of  selling  indulgences.  Be  it  so ; 
you  are  only  exercising  a  natural  right,  an  inherent 
privilege  of  the  priesthood  of  any  time  and  of  any 
country,  when  you  boldly  wipe  it  oif  from  the  face  of 
the  earth.  But  you  must  substitute  another  method  for 
it  to  commemorate  man's  relation  to  God,  or  else  man, 
the  average  man,  will  cease  to  feel  that  there  is  such  a 
relation. 

Ah,  you  say,  in  that  case  you  mil  see  to  it  that  he 
shall  know  it  instead  of  merely  feeling  it ;  that  you  will 
personally  demonstrate  it  to  him  from  the  pulpit,  and 
convince  him  of  it. 

To  demonstrate,  to  convince  others,  means  to  himo 
yourself.  What  do  you  hnow  of  God  ?  If  you  should 
assert  that  you  do  know  God,  you  will  constitute  your- 
self the  boldest  sinner  of  your  congregation.  You  may 
believe  in  God;  but  to  say  that  you  hnow  him,  you 


IDEAS. 


245 


must  be  either  a  God  yourseK  or  a  pretender.  What 
can  we  know  of  time,  and  space,  and  eternity,  of  things 
immaterial  in  any  sense  ?  The  moment  you  attempt 
knowledge  in  that  direction,  attempt  a  definition  of  the 
Deity,  of  his  attributes,  of  his  acts,  or  of  anything  per- 
taining to  him,  you  are  guilty  of  sacrilege,  of  a  pre- 
sumption the  impiety  of  which  has  no  equal  in  human 
audacity. 

The  knowledge  of  God  which  man  may  speak  of 
without  sin,  is  the  confused  knowledge  of  nature,  and 
man's  humble  effort  at  imitation  of  it  in  art.  As  you 
see  him  reveal  himself  in  matter,  even  so  is  your  knowl- 
edge of  him — confused,  uncertain,  fragmentary,  adum- 
brative, nowhere  and  never  absolute,  and  in  that  sense 
only  can  you  convey  it  to  other  men ;  and  your  personal 
feeble  literary  efforts  in  that  direction  are  insufficient 
for  the  work.  You  need  [Nature  and  Art  to  help  you, 
in  fact,  to  do  this  work  for  you.  And  if  you  succeed 
in  directing  it  in  part  successfully,  within  the  limits 
of  your  understanding  of  it,  you  have  done  all  that  can 
be  expected  of  you. 

But,  says  yon  young  priest,  recently  ordained,  "  I 
am  the  ambassador  of  the  Most  High,  as  he  has  re- 
vealed himself  to  man,  and  I  proclaim  him  with  assur- 
ance and  without  sin."  True,  precisely  so ;  this  is  the 
gist  of  the  argument,  "  as  he  has  revealed  himself  to 
man,"  in  nature  and  in  art,  in  pictures  such  as  may  be 
understood  from  time  to  time,  and  which  may  fit  either 
a  condition  of  progress  or  one  of  retrogression.  These 
pictures  you  must  learn  to  know,  that  you  may  inter- 
pret them  according  to  the  knowledge  of  men  and  of 
your  own  time.  Their  true  and  full  import  you  never 
will  know.    Even  Moses  was  enjoined  to  cover  his 


246 


Mature  of  architecture. 


face  that  he  might  not  be  overwhelmed  by  the  glory 
of  God.  Man  cannot  hnow  God  and  live.  This  is  the 
substance  of  God's  message  to  man,  which  you  are 
commanded  to  convey. 

As  the  Church  groups  men  in  worship,  so  may  the 
architect  build  the  visible  Church  in  unison  with  these 
groups.  For  this  part  of  the  work  he  must  look  to  the 
Church  for  direction  ;  it  is  there  where  his  function  be- 
gins. But  if  the  Church  have  no  conception  of  its  duty, 
of  this  peculiar  element  of  art  which  it  alone  can  origi- 
nate, then  the  Church,  as  a  structure  of  fine  art,  becomes 
impossible.  Could  a  Phidias  give  expression  to  the 
human  form  if  God  had  made  man  in  the  shape  of  a 
cylinder  without  features  to  express  emotion  ? 

If  the  story  of  Helen  and  Paris  were  to  be  enacted 
over  again  in  our  own  time,  it  would  figure  in  the 
journals  of  the  day  as  an  "  elopement  in  high  life,"  or 
as  a  celebrated  divorce  case;  the  Iliad  would  be  im- 
possible. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


MONUMENTS. 

What  is  a  monument  ?  Every  expression  of  thought 
in  durable  form  is  a  monument.  Whatever  we  say, 
write,  paint,  or  cut  in  stone,  or  cast  in  metal,  is  a  monu- 
ment. If  the  thought  we  utter  is  a  wise  one,  of  im- 
portance to  mankind,  the  monument  expressing  it  will 
be  prized  by  men,  and  will  endure  accordingly.  If  it 
be  built  in  stone,  and  the  stone  decay,  another  monu- 
ment will  soon  replace  it.  A  word  spoken,  if  it  be 
wise  and  expressive  of  an  idea,  will  endure  like  the 
pyramids.  If  false  or  frivolous  thought  is  monumen- 
tally preserved,  it  is  to  the  discredit  of  its  authors  as 
long  as  it  lasts.  Vain  thoughts,  untruths,  verbally 
uttered,  are  soon  forgotten ;  when  put  into  print,  in 
books,  in  periodicals,  and  in  newspapers,  they  haunt 
men  until  they  find  their  grave  in  the  paper-mill. 
When  embodied  in  stone  or  metal,  their  duration  is 
extended  to  the  discredit  of  their  authors.  An  idea 
may  not  be  absolutely  true,  and  yet,  if  it  be  conceived 
in  charity  to  man,  and  represents  the  highest  intellec- 
tual effort  of  an  epoch,  it  may  still  live  and  be  re- 
spected, although  superseded  by  another  idea  much 
nearer  the  truth.  Man  may  continue  to  cherish  it  as 
a  human  aspiration  of  truly  divine  significance.  Vari- 
ous scientific  theories,  and  most  of  the  religious  systems 
247 


248 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


of  the  past,  are  instances  of  tlie  kind.  And  tlie  latter 
continue  to  exist  in  painting,  sculpture,  and  poetry ; 
wliile  the  former  constitute  no  inconsiderable  part  of 
the  history  of  science,  where  they  are  mentioned  with 
due  regard  for  the  ingenuity  and  learning  of  their 
authors,  although  their  fallacy  has  been  long  ago 
demonstrated. 

It  is  the  province  of  architecture  to  express  ideas 
by  structures.  All  structures,  consequently,  are  archi- 
tectural monuments.  A  structure  may,  however,  ex- 
press an  idea  it  was  not  intended  to  express ;  perhaps 
the  very  opposite  of  that  idea.  The  man  who  builds 
a  dwelling  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  day  to  live 
in,  or  to  sell,  as  it  may  be  marketable,  is  building  a 
monument  which  does  not  reflect  his  personality,  but 
simply  the  conventional  sentiment  of  the  masses.  This 
may  be  thus  summed  up :  Well-to-do  people  of  the 
nineteenth  century  require  a  certain  amount  of  crea- 
ture comforts  and  a  certain  amount  of  display;  to 
obtain  all  this  with  the  least  cost  is  the  main  thins^. 
Another  has  mastered  this  principle  in  architecture, 
that  his  house  must  not  be  a  monument  to  any  and 
every  one,  but  to  himself.  He  would,  however,  have 
himself  reflected  in  his  dwelling,  not  as  he  is,  but  as  he 
would  like  the  public  to  believe  him  to  be.  The  critic 
will  not  accept  such  a  monument  as  architectural  art, 
but  will  class  it  with  other  species  of  public  advertise- 
ment, in  which  advertisement  the  public  will  put  no 
faith. 

If  a  man,  however,  tries  to  build  a  house  which 
shall  be  as  good  as  he  can  afford  to  make  it ;  if  he  does 
nothing  for  show,  and  everything  for  structural  in- 
tegrity ;  if  he  builds  it  so  that  it  may  serve  his  pur- 


MONUMENTS. 


249 


pose,  tlien  this  house  will  be  a  monument  of  this 
purpose.  If  he  be  a  person  who  invites  friends  to 
enjoy  his  hospitality,  or  if  he  lives  entirely  for  his 
family ;  if  he  reads  much,  or  plays  much,  or  makes 
eating  the  main  business  of  life,  his  house  will  tell  the 
story  truthfully,  and  become  a  monument  of  the  man. 

But,  first  of  all,  in  order  to  create  a  monument  it  is 
necessary  that  its  author  should  be  conscientious,  and 
that  he  should  respect  the  thing  he  is  doing.  He 
must  not  look  upon  it  as  a  mere  makeshift  for  certain 
physical  needs,  but  as  a  worthy  manifestation  of  men- 
tal functions.  To  illustrate :  It  is  proper  and  right 
that,  in  a  ship,  which  is  not  a  work  of  fine  art,  but 
one  supplying  a  temporary  necessity,  every  nook  and 
corner  should  be  utilized.  A  locker  may  be  placed 
under  the  stairs,  over  a  berth,  or  in  any  convenient 
place  in  the  saloon  ;  we  may  crowd  the  passages  and 
stairways  into  spaces  limited  by  the  necessities  of  the 
passengers  and  the  crew.  In  a  gentleman's  dwelling 
such  a  proceeding  would  be  vulgar ;  for  this  is  not  a 
shelter  merely,  but  a  residence.  A  certain  liberality 
of  space  and  a  dignified  order  of  things  forbids  as  an 
art  necessity  the  use  of  space  for  two  or  more  pur- 
poses. Otherwise  we  fail  to  express  the  proper  func- 
tions of  the  part  we  are  treating. 

There  is  also  another  fundamental  principle  of  art 
work.  We  should  not  resort  to  mechanical  expe- 
dients, no  matter  h6w  sound  in  themselves,  because 
they  are  desirable  only  on  economical  grounds,  if  they 
are  lacking  in,  or  detrimental  to,  clear  art  expression. 
If  an  acre  of  ground  is  to  be  protected  from  the 
weather  to  make  the  space  available  for  a  rolling-mill, 
for  a  car-house,  or  for  a  depot  of  lumber,  and  this  can 


250 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


be  economically  and  well  done  by  an  iron  trass  from 
wall  to  wall,  it  is  the  thing  to  be  done ;  but  such  an 
expedient  would  not  conduce  to  art  expression  in  a 
church,  a  theatre,  or  a  legislative  chamber  any  more 
than  the  hide  of  an  animal  would  furnish  a  substitute 
for  a  properly  organized  garment.  We  are  not  sup- 
posed in  a  monument  to  grudge  the  space  or  the 
material  that  is  needed  to  show  that  mechanical  work 
is  well  and  easily  done,  the  result  of  which  is  repose. 
We  should  not  resort  to  a  trick  in  the  matter  of  con- 
struction, for  to  the  educated  mind  it  must  seem?  un- 
worthy of  the  purpose,  and  to  the  masses  it  suggests  no 
idea  but  that  of  meeting  a  physical  necessity.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  a  work  of  fine  art  is  the  expres- 
sion of  an  idea  in  matter.  Matter,  therefore,  is  an 
all-important  element  in  an  art  production ;  it  alone 
affects  the  senses.  In  any  mechanical  organism  mas- 
siveness  is  a  visible  guarantee  of  stability ;  reflection 
must  not  be  required  to  bring  about  conviction  that 
the  organism  performs  its  functions,  more  especially 
as  most  persons  who  are  affected  by  it  are  incapable 
of  such  reflection. 

In  the  erection  of  a  monument,  self-denial  should 
consist  in  refraining  from  unmeaning  display  for  the 
sake  of  show.  Architecture  is  popularly  held  to  be 
the  art  of  decorating  a  structure  so  as  to  make  it  ap- 
pear beautiful.  This  is  true  or  not  true  according 
as  we  understand  the  beautiful.  It  is  supposed  that 
a  structure  may  be  made  beautiful  by  piling  upon  it 
a  multitude  of  pretty  things  to  hide  its  construction, 
which  is  supposed  to  be  commonplace,  merely  the 
work  of  the  builder  and  the  engineer. 

The  error  contained  in  this  notion  is  twofold.  First, 


MONUMENTS. 


251 


there  is  no  beauty  but  that  wliicli  results  from  a  forcible, 
clear,  and  successful  expression  of  tlie  idea  in  matter. 
Expression  can  be  found  only  in  depicting  features 
whicli  vary  in  dignity,  magnitude,  power,  and  force  of 
action.  It  is  clear  tliat  expression  must  depend  on  the 
amount  of  character  in  various  features  of  the  structure ; 
that  is  to  say,  we  must  make  one  part  more  dignified, 
more  ample,  more  strong,  more  forcible  than  another, 
and  attain  to  as  great  a  number  of  such  possible  differ- 
ences as  there  are  classified  features  in  the  structure 
under  consideration.  Now  this  can  be  accomplished 
only  by  an  ascending  or  a  descending  scale  of  deco- 
ration fitted  to  express  corresponding  features  of  the 
structure.  We  must  gain  expression  by  making  parts 
plainer  than  others,  as  well  as  by  making  parts  richer 
than  others. 

Secondly,  plain  constructional  forms  express  functions 
fully  and  directly  in  obedience  to  nature's  laws.  When 
constructive  expression  is  heightened  by  decoration, 
it  tells  more  plainly  and  promptly  the  nature  of  the 
functions  performed  by  the  organism.  The  laws  of 
mechanics,  however,  are  the  only  guide  to  a  true  sys- 
tem of  carved  and  color  decoration ;  and  if  these  laws 
are  not  duly  regarded,  there  arises  a  discord  between 
the  expression  of  the  masses  and  that  of  their  decora- 
tion, which  detracts  from  the  expression  of  the  whole. 
In  this  case  it  were  better  that  the  masses  were  not 
decorated. 

In  creating  a  monument,  the  problem  is  mainly  to 
give  expression  to  the  acts  performed  within  its  walls, 
which  is  done  by  giving  to  the  structure  a  form  which 
will  correspond  with  the  groups  performing  these 
acts,  and  to  its  parts  such  masses,  modelling,  carved 


252 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


and  color  decoration  as  will  express  precisely  the  de- 
gree of  stability,  dignity,  and  elegance  wliich  corre- 
sponds with  the  import  of  the  acts  to  be  expressed. 
The  form  of  a  monument  is  determined,  therefore, 
by  the  human  groups  which  are  accommodated  in  its 
interior,  and  must  contain  as  many  single  cells  as  there 
are  prominent  groups.  The  expression  of  strength 
and  elegance  must  relate  to  the  mechanical  functions 
performed  by  structural  parts,  and  is,  therefore,  refer- 
able to  mechanical  laws.  It  is  the  purpose  of  every 
architectural  monument,  also,  to  supply  such  physical 
needs  as  shelter  and  comfort  to  the  persons  who  oc- 
cupy it ;  and  we  may,  therefore,  sum  up  the  conditions 
which  surround  the  creation  of  a  monument,  as  the 
idea  which  called  it  into  being,  the  acts  which  illus- 
trate this  idea,  the  emotions  which  are  produced  by 
these  acts  in  the  human  groups  which  occujDy  the 
structure,  the  degree  of  strength  and  elegance  which 
corresponds  with  these  emotions  and  with  the  nature 
of  the  materials  which  serve  for  the  erection  of  the 
monument,  and  the  knowledge  possessed  by  the  author 
of  the  monument  of  both  the  mechanical  and  aesthetic 
relations  of  the  matter  which  serves  to  form  the  or- 
ganism of  his  structure.  All  these  conditions  apper- 
taining to  the  development  of  monumental  forms  may 
be  likened  to  the  environments  of  natural  organisms, 
with  this  difference,  that  the  art  force  in  natural  or- 
ganisms is  absolutely  adequate,  while  in  an  aii;  work, 
created  by  human  effort,  the  degree  of  creative  force 
varies  with  the  ability  and  learning  of  the  artist.  But 
it  must  be  clear  that  man  cannot  invent  artistic  forms, 
but  that  he  may  permit  himself  to  be  led  into  the  de- 
velopment of  forms  in  precisely  the  same  way  as  nature 


MONUMENTS. 


253 


develops  her  forms.  In  nature  environment  compels 
functions,  and  the  organism  fully  responds  to  these 
functions ;  hence  it  is  possessed  of  perfect  expression. 
In  an  architectural  monument  the  functions  of  the 
structure  are  first  determined,  and  next  to  these  the 
methods  of  expression,  all  of  which  is  in  imitation  of 
nature  by  referring  development  at  every  stage  to 
nature's  own  laws  pertaining  to  such  organism,  viz., 
the  laws  of  statics.  Hence  these  laws,  together  with 
the  nature  of  the  fundamental  idea  which  is  the  origin 
of  the  monument,  the  material  of  which  it  is  built,  its 
situation  with  reference  to  the  sun,  the  climate  of  the 
country  in  which  it  is  built,  constitute  environments 
of  physical  development,  which  must  be  understood 
and  responded  to  by  the  architect. 

The  development  of  monuments  in  the  past,  how- 
ever, does  not  show  even  an  approximation  to  a  prompt 
and  full  appreciation  of  the  conditions  controlling  the 
creation  of  monuments  by  those  who  built  them. 
Antique  and  mediaeval  monuments  reached  perfect  de- 
velopment at  a  time  when  the  ideas  which  called  them 
into  being  had  long  culminated  and  begun  to  decay, 
if  that  term  can  be  used  in  relation  to  an  idea — under- 
going a  change  in  its  nature,  or  yielding  its  place  to 
another  idea  related  to  it  indeed,  but  so  materially 
modified  as  not  to  be  readily  recognized  as  the  same. 

The  monuments  erected  under  Pericles,  those  of  the 
Roman  empire,  and  the  cathedrals  of  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries  are  all  illustrations  in  point.  The 
decay  of  Catholicism,  and  of  the  Polytheism  of  Greece 
and  Rome,  occurred  simultaneously  with  the  perfec- 
tion of  the  monuments  illustrative  of  these  religious 
ideas. 


254  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


We  find  the  same  phenomena  in  the  celebration  of 
mediaeval  social  and  political  conditions  in  the  poetic 
works  of  Shakespeare  at  the  close  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
when  these  social  and  political  conditions  had  already 
undergone  such  changes  as  pertain  to  the  beginning  of 
a  new  era.  The  most  potent  cause  of  this  is  the  fact 
that  the  poetical  embodiment  of  human  relations  is  not 
premeditated,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  work  of  slow 
growth.  The  present  is  to  us  always  matter  of  fact. 
AVe  see  in  its  conditions  only  so  many  obstacles  or 
helps  to  physical  well-being.  Keligious,  social,  and 
political  opinions,  and  the  customs,  practices,  and  ma- 
terial demonstrations  growing  out  of  them,  apj)ear  to 
us  the  essence  of  reason,  a  phase  of  mental  emancipa- 
tion from  past  error.  We  do  not  recognize  them  as 
poetical  revelations  of  partial  truths,  because  we  deem 
them  to  be  absolute  truth.  Only  when  we  begin  to 
discover  that  our  physical  interests  demand  theoretical 
changes  in  the  fundamental  ideas  of  our  social  fabric, 
and  these  changes  are  initiated,  the  opinions  and  prac- 
tices of  the  past  become  mythical,  become  pictures  of 
a  human  condition  which  acquires  a  poetical  and  pic- 
turesque value  in  the  precise  degree  in  which  its  real 
and  actual  value  as  a  means  to  promote  practical  in- 
terests begins  to  diminish. 

The  mediaeval  armor  is  the  necessary  practical  ac- 
coutrement to  resist  mediaeval  arms,  and  the  mediaeval 
castle  the  monument  of  a  social  condition  based  upon 
physical  force,  and  a  code  of  honor  and  duty  arising 
from  it. 

Mediaeval  religion  is  the  outcome  of  the  physical 
human  relations  of  the  time,  the  philosophy  which 
makes  possible  the  existence  of  the  weak  in  the  pres- 


MONUMENTS, 


255 


ence  of  the  strong.  The  defects  and  the  poetry  of 
both  (the  social  condition  and  the  ethical  code  pertain- 
ing to  it)  are  recognized  simultaneously ;  and  the  ideas 
which  caused  their  being  are  celebrated  in  poetry  and 
architecture  at  the  time  when  they  begin  to  yield  to 
other  ideas  which  are  determined  by  other  social  con- 
ditions. All  this  is  perfectly  consistent  with  past 
practice,  and  perhaps  also  sufficient  for  the  human  in- 
terests of  the  past.  At  the  present  time,  however,  it 
becomes  a  serious  question  whether  the  rapid  progress 
of  thought,  and  the  more  general  acceptability  of  new 
ideas,  does  not  demand  a  philosophic  development  of 
art  expression  of  ideas  which  will  keep  pace  with  gen- 
eral progress,  in  order  to  aiford  to  the  masses  that  in- 
struction which  can  by  them  be  derived  only  from 
worts  of  fine  art.  The  only  fine  arts  which  can  be 
said  to  foster  modern  ideas  are  poetry  and  painting ; 
and  the  one  above  all  others  which  fails  to  do  this  is 
architecture.  The  reason  is  obvious.  Architects  of 
all  historical  periods  depended  for  a  poetical  realization 
of  ideas  upon  the  Church,  and  upon  the  sister  arts, 
poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture  ;  or,  in  other  words,  the 
architect  did  not  realize  the  import  of  social  and  relig- 
ious ideas  any  sooner  than  the  mass  of  the  people  of 
his  time.  Yet  the  architect  of  the  past,  up  to  the 
fourteenth  century,  lived  in  the  midst  of  a  civilization 
wherein  thought  found  constant  expression  in  poetical 
demonstration.  Every  species  of  occupation  in  life,  every 
rank  of  society  was  strongly  marked  by  expressive 
costumes.  Holidays,  feasts,  and  processions,  convoca- 
tions of  the  clergy,  or  the  professions  and  the  guilds, 
gave  material  utterance  to  every  shade  and  gradation 
of  social  and  religious  life.    In  the  absence  of  ready 


256 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


methods  of  communicating  thought  to  the  masses  of 
the  people  in  words,  every  idea  developed  immediately 
crystallized  into  forms  in  which  it  could  be  conveyed 
to  those  interested.  The  period  since  the  Renaissance 
has  been  devoted  to  a  gradual  but  steady  destruction 
of  forms  and  material  demonstrations  of  all  kinds. 
Modern  dress,  at  least  the  dress  of  the  so-called 
civilized  world,  has  worked  a  revolution  in  the  out- 
ward form  of  society  by  assimilating  all  persons,  and 
by  depriving  all  equally  of  the  form  with  which 
nature  has  endowed  them.  The  divine  right  of  kings 
is  steadily  yielding  to  a  greater  fallacy,  the  equality  of 
all  men.  The  despotism  of  the  Church,  which  points 
to  the  infallibility  of  one  man,  is  promptly  rejected, — to 
be  exchanged  for  what  ?  The  doctrine  of  the  infalli- 
bility of  all  men,  or,  as  it  is  called  in  Protestant  tech- 
nical language,  the  right  of  every  man  to  read  and 
construe  the  Scriptures  for  himself.  The  social  dis- 
tinction of  birth,  based  upon  remote  personal  merit  in 
some  ancestor,  and  upon  probable  education  and  good 
breeding  in  the  person  who  enjoyed  it,  is  being  rapidly 
abrogated  to  make  room  for  the  theory  that  the  claims 
of  no  one  are  to  be  limited  by  an  exaction  of  personal 
merit. 

The  human  race  has  discovered  that  certain  social 
and  religious  dogmas  are  not  absolutely  true,  which  is 
no  doubt  a  great  gain,  and  betrays  reflection  and  wis- 
dom. It  is  a  hypothesis  from  which  valuable  conclu- 
sions may  be  drawn,  provided  we  apply  a  sound  logical 
argument.  But,  upon  the  positive  side,  modern  common 
sense  has  brought  forth  nothing  better  and  nothing 
more  than  the  wonderful  proposition  that  a  false  idea 
is  converted  into  a  true  one  the  moment  it  is  changed 


MONUMENTS. 


257 


in  any  manner  whatever.  If  tlie  sun  is  not  in  the  east, 
then  it  must  be  in  the  north ;  if  continuous  rains  ruin 
the  crops,  constant  droughts  will  preserve  them ;  if 
the  moon  is  not  made  of  silver,  then  it  must  be  made 
of  green  cheese.  All  this  might  do  no  great  harm  to 
society,  since  to  exchange  one  false  theory  for  another 
is  not  necessarily  a  loss,  if  the  conviction  had  not  gained 
ground  that  all  metaphysical  questions  are  now  abso- 
lutely solved,  that  religion  has  become  a  science  and 
government  is  in  that  happy  Utopian  condition  wherein 
every  one  governs  himself,  and  everybody  else,  with- 
out restriction ;  that,  furthermore,  forms  and  material 
demonstrations  are  unnecessary  to  a  nation  of  philoso- 
phers, that  the  picture  language  of  art  is  no  more 
needed  in  actual  life,  and  must  find  its  level  as  a  mere 
means  of  popular  amusement.  The  conceit  is  abroad 
that  the  worship  of  God  is  nothing  but  a  philosophic 
understanding  of  his  nature,  and  prayer  an  expression 
of  popular  or  personal  opinion,  somewhat  the  same  as 
a  petition  to  Parliament,  or  to  the  Lord  Mayor ;  that 
the  national  legislature  is  a  species  of  debating  society 
which  is  governed  by  mere  mind,  and  can  afford  to  be 
oblivious  of  matter ;  that  a  court  of  law  or  justice  is  a 
place  of  ready  reference  to  settled  codes,  and  a  judge 
a  convenient  index  for  such  a  reference  without  any 
further  social  import ;  that  all  men  are  equal,  because 
they  all  wear  the  same  dress,  and  that  everybody 
knows  everything  absolutely,  and  needs  to  defer  to  no 
one  for  any  purpose  whatever.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
novels  we  read  in  our  youth,  the  plays  we  see  performed 
on  the  stage,  and  the  music  we  hear  everywhere,  we 
should  have  long  ago  discarded  all  notions  of  faith, 
morality,  and  patriotism,  and  erected  temples  to  pounds, 

17 


258  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


shillings,  and  pence.  Under  these  circumstances  it 
becomes  the  duty  of  the  artist  to  realize  the  nature  of 
current  ideas,  and  to  represent  them  in  matter.  The 
architect,  at  least,  cannot  afford  to  wait  until  the  ideas 
of  the  time  have  been  artistically  rendered  in  poetry, 
nor  until  those  of  the  Church  have  been  so  rendered  in 
art.  If  the  Church  is  to  assist  him  in  this  effort,  it  is 
quite  clear  that  he,  the  architect,  must  initiate  the  pro- 
cess ;  for  it  seems  certain  that  the  Church  as  a  body 
is  oblivious  of  the  necessity  of  it,  and  so  are  the  courts 
of  law  and  modern  legislative  assemblies.  All  these 
need  the  regenerating  influence  of  art  to  make  their 
moral  import  understood  by  the  masses.  The  period 
of  the  Renaissance  is  one  continuous  effort  to  tear  down 
every  material  expression  of  reverence  for  gods,  divine 
and  human,  who  have  heretofore  embodied  human 
virtue  and  human  aspiration ;  and  in  place  of  these  is 
left,  not  a  philosophic  digest  of  the  abstract  ideas  ex- 
pressed by  them,  but  a  materialistic  reduction  of  all 
things,  of  all  interests,  of  all  institutions,  to  money 
values,  the  only  unit  of  measure  of  the  present  time. 
Art,  and  more  especially  architecture,  has  ceased  to 
deal  with  ideas ;  and  hence  construction  (the  law  of 
mechanics)  has  lost  its  value  as  a  method  and  a  means 
to  develop  forms.  For  the  last  three  hundred  years 
no  new  forms  have  been  created  in  architecture.  The 
ability  to  express  ideas  in  matter,  if  it  exists  at  all,  is 
not  looked  upon  as  an  element  in  art  creation.  Ideas, 
moreover,  have  not  been  artistically  materialized  dur- 
ing the  same  time ;  and,  what  is  more,  in  the  Church  no 
positive  ideas  have  been  developed.  Shakespeare  and 
the  architects  of  the  thirteenth  century  celebrated  in 
art  work  mediaeval  ideas.    A  modem  Shakespeare  and 


MONUMENTS, 


259 


a  modem  architect  can  find  in  the  Church  no  ideas  of 
the  immediate  past  which  may  be  celebrated  in  art. 
If  architecture  is  to  be  revived,  v^e  need  first  a  revival 
of  positive  ideas,  and  next  a  poetic  translation  of  these 
ideas  into  human  acts. 

The  question  will  be  asked  here.  Is  society  to  place 
itself  in  the  hands  of  a  skilled  stage-manager,  who  is  to 
train  it  to  perform  the  business  of  life  with  the  decorum 
which  is  befitting  an  exalted  code  of  ethics  ?  To  this 
we  must  respond  with  a  decisive  no  !  Human  acts,  like 
art  forms,  cannot  be  invented ;  they  must  grow,  and 
they  will  grow,  too,  provided  the  ideas  which  they 
illustrate  are  of  such  a  nature  that  they  will  germinate. 
Now  ideas  germinate  under  conditions  opposite  to  those 
of  nature's  germs.  The  latter  must  be  placed  in  the 
dark.  Ideas,  in  order  to  germinate,  must  be  placed  in 
broad  daylight.  This  means  that  those  who  subscribe 
to  them  must  also  believe  in  them  and  avow  them 
publicly.  That  men  do  not  believe  in  ideas  currently 
promulgated  is  but  too  true ;  and  it  is  equally  true  that 
they  dare  not  express  those  ideas  in  which  they  do 
believe. 

The  modern  popular  hero  who  rides  into  power  upon 
the  wave  of  the  elective  franchise  is  ill  calculated  to  be- 
come a  material  embodiment  of  ideas  in  which  men  can 
believe,  no  matter  how  vociferously  they  may  be  pro- 
claimed from  the  hustings.  Art  affectation  which  clus- 
ters around  paltry  oddities,  over-estimated  merits,  and 
accidental  curiosities  of  the  monuments  of  the  past, 
and  seeks  inspiration  in  attitudes,  in  mannerism,  in 
studied  imitation  of  foibles  and  fancies  which  have  no 
meaning  at  present — perhaps  never  had  any — does  not 
cherish  ideas  that  men  are  willing  to  adopt  as  their 


260 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


own,  and  to  support  whicli  they  will  sacrifice  tlieir 
substance. 

Fortunately  it  is  not  given  to  man  to  dictate  a  code 
of  morals  wliicli  is  to  govern  others,  and  wMcli  lie  him- 
self may  subvert  with  impunity.  If  he  attempts  this, 
the  result  is  a  constant  upheaval  of  society,  and  such  a 
succession  of  violent  agitations  and  revolts  as  we  have 
seen  during  the  past  century.  Nor  can  he  set  up  a  false 
code  and  have  it  obeyed.  In  fact,  morality  is  a  law  of 
nature — eternal,  determined,  unalterable.  What  man 
can  do  is  to  prescribe  the  form  in  which  this  law  is  to 
be  taught,  that  is  to  say,  the  art  form  in  which  it  is  to 
be  clothed ;  and  to  see  to  it  that  this  art  form  shall  at 
all  times  correspond  with  popular  intelligence. 

Nature  has  established  sacraments  which  man  must 
respect  and  celebrate  in  some  form ;  and,  what  is  more, 
his  life  must  be  a  practical  embodiment  of  the  truth 
they  teach ;  and,  if  so,  he  mil  in  all  his  acts  illustrate 
and  represent  them.  They  are  the  laws  of  God,  as  we 
see  them  exemplified  in  nature,  the  truth  they  teach, 
the  rights  and  duties  of  man  which  they  determine, 
the  claims  of  the  weak  and  ignorant  upon  our  help 
and  charity,  the  friendship  we  owe  to  those  who  be- 
friend us,  our  own  unblemished  honor,  our  loyalty  to 
the  state,  our  industry  in  serving  our  race,  our  honesty 
in  dealing  with  men  and  things ;  and,  finally,  the  hope 
that  we  may  add  to  the  stock  of  knowledge — ^that  our 
thought,  our  ideas,  may  live  after  our  mortal  body  has 
merged  in  cosmic  matter. 

It  needs  no  extraordinary  powers  of  the  imagination 
to  conceive  and  realize  how  and  when  these  sacraments 
may  be  celebrated  within  and  without  the  Church,  and 
how  they  must  become  fruitful  of  acts,  to  perf oiTa  which 


MONUMENTS. 


261 


we  need  poetic  groups  wliose  emotions  must  give  rise 
to  an  endless  variety  of  art  forms,  wliicli,  in  tlieir  turn, 
will  do  their  share  in  tlie  education  of  man. 

The  confessional,  the  mass,  the  saints,  and  all  the 
methods  of  Catholic  worship  pertaining  to  these,  are 
examples  of  material  expressions  of  ideas  as  created  in 
the  past.  They  must  continue  to  command  our  respect, 
and  will  continue  to  live  in  Christian  poetry.  We 
have  discarded  them.  We  should  now  prove  to  the 
world  that  we  are  capable  of  replacing  them  with 
other  and  better  expressions  of  religious  ideas.  If  the 
present  class  of  recurring  religious,  social,  and  political 
questions  should  condense  and  crystallize  into  tangible 
ideas  worthy  of  the  intellectual  condition  of  the  age, 
and  society  should,  upon  sober  reflection,  discard  the 
aberration  of  the  so-called  fashions,  and  apply  itself  to 
clothing  its  thought  in  dignified  and  speaking  art  forms, 
then  architecture  will  be  able  to  respond  to  the  de- 
mand made  upon  her.  The  architectural  mind,  which 
is  now  filled  with  multitudes  of  created  forms,  may 
well  doubt  whether  new  forms  are  a  possibility ;  but 
as  long  as  ideas  are  developed,  fitting  art  forms  to  ex- 
press them  will  be  the  logical  result,  provided  archi- 
tecture remains  a  living  art. 

A  moment's  reflection  will  show  that  architecture, 
in  spite  of  the  goodly  age  of  this  globe,  is  still  in  its 
infancy.  We  have  seen  in  a  former  chapter  that  it 
deals  with  single  cells,  groups,  and  piles.  In  truth, 
the  art  has  not  yet  fully  risen  above  the  single  cell. 
In  mediaeval  architecture  we  certainly  find  groups  of 
cells  and  exceptionally  rambling  piles ;  but  the  former 
are  not  fully  developed,  and  the  latter  are  mere  acci- 
dent, not  premeditated — hence  not  art  work  in  that 


26^  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


sense.  In  early  human  monuments,  as  the  Pyramids, 
it  was  required  that  they  should  be  enduring,  and  the 
expression  of  their  import  was  sought  solely  in  magni- 
tude. It  is  but  natural  that  the  symbol  to  express 
greatness  which  first  presented  itself  to  the  mind  of  man 
should  be  physical  magnitude.  Modern  architects  are 
still  somewhat  possessed  by  an  art  superstition  of  this 
kind.  Magnitude  is  cited  as  one  of  the  elements  of 
beauty,  and  this  question  is  seriously  debated  some- 
what in  this  wise :  The  larger  a  monument,  the  more 
impressive,  the  more  beautiful  it  is.  Is  there  any 
limit,  then,  to  this  largeness  ?  For  if  magnitude  con- 
stitutes beauty,  unlimited  magnitude  must  be  the  cor- 
relative cause  of  unlimited  beauty  ;  and  this  leads  to 
serious  practical  difficulties.  The  answer  made  to  it 
is  not  as  logical  as  the  question.  It  is  held  that  the 
magnitude  of  a  monument  should  not  exceed  what  you 
can  overlook  from  one  point  of  sight.  This  can  be 
true  only  when  the  monument  is  the  result  of  an  iso- 
lated idea,  or  of  a  single  act  illustrating  an  idea.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  are  a  series  of  acts  to  be  repre- 
sented, it  would  be  well  for  the  clearer  representation 
of  the  idea  in  matter  that  we  should  observe  the  vari- 
ous acts  in  succession.  Moreover,  these  various  acts 
and  emotions  are  not  of  equal  importance.  Hence  dif- 
ferent magnitudes  must  come  into  play,  and  the  rule, 
"the  larger  the  better,"  must  yield  to  some  sort  of 
system  whereby  magnitude  is  determined,  not  perhaps 
in  feet  and  inches,  nor  in  diameters  of  columns,  nor  in 
magical  numbers,  but  by  a  rule  of  relation  which  shall 
apply  in  all  cases. 

The  eagerness  to  build  high  towers  in  connection 
with  mediaeval  cathedrals  is  a  remnant  of  this  crude 


MONUMENTS. 


263 


art  system ;  and  the  method  of  placing  these  towers  in 
immediate  connection  with  the  nave,  or,  what  is  worse, 
over  the  transepts,  serves  as  a  striking  proof  that  the 
single  cell  was  ever  present  to  the  mind  of  mediaeval 
architects.  The  force  which  is  inherent  in  the  tower 
is  belittled  by  the  proximity  of  the  church,  and  the 
idea  of  power  to  be  imparted  to  the  church  is  frus- 
trated by  the  proximity  of  the  tower;  or,  in  other 
words,  as  cathedrals  are  arranged,  the  tower  belittles 
the  church,  and  the  church  belittles  the  tower.  The 
cathedral  without  the  tower  is  a  melody  which  relates 
dignified  ideas  in  a  masterly  manner ;  the  tower  is 
the  base  note,  well  calculated  to  strengthen  the  score. 
A  visible  separation,  however,  of  the  two  is  needed 
fully  to  attain  the  desired  effect. 

Another  strong  indication  of  the  prevalence  of  the 
single-cell  system  is  the  crystallization  of  the  cathedral 
masses  around  a  central  line.  This  is  what  is  usually 
known  under  the  name  of  symmetry.  It  is  a  funda- 
mental law  of  both  art  and  nature,  but  does  not  ex- 
tend beyond  the  limits  of  organisms  of  a  single  func- 
tion. In  nature  the  moment  there  is  a  change  of  func- 
tion there  is  also  a  change  of  crystallization  in  magni- 
tude, form,  and  direction.  Art,  to  be  in  imitation  of 
nature,  must  utilize  this  very  important  fact  by  accept- 
ing it  as  a  law,  and  will  thus  gain  in  the  expression  of 
the  idea. 

The  composition  of  architectural  groups  is  a  problem 
reserved  for  the  future,  and  must  be  perfected  before 
the  relation  of  architectural  piles  can  be  successfully 
considered.  This  opens  to  us  a  vista  of  activity,  which, 
when  fairly  reached,  will  generate  works  compared  to 
which  the  cathedrals  of  the  middle  ages  and  Greek 


264 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


and  Roman  temples  are  tlie  alphabet  of  art.  There 
are  but  few  notes  in  the  octave,  but  few  colors  (pure 
colors)  in  nature  ;  but  the  development  of  music  and 
color  decoration  depends  more  upon  combination  than 
upon  the  number  of  original  elements.  Architecture 
must  seek  its  ultimate  development,  and  will  find  it, 
too,  in  the  same  way. 

The  monumental  stone,  or  what  is  popularly  known 
as  a  monument,  deserves  a  passing  notice  in  this  con- 
nection. The  architectural  conception  of  it  is  to-day 
nothing  more  than  what  it  was  originally,  a  mural 
stone.  True,  it  is  not  a  rude  stone  now,  it  is  modelled 
to  distinguish  base,  die,  and  cap.  Sometimes  it  is 
treated  as  an  obelisk,  and  in  mediaeval  architecture  it 
assumes  the  form  of  an  open  chaplet  not  infrequently 
surmounted  with  a  steeple.  In  no  case,  however,  has 
it  attained  to  the  dignity  of  a  structure  expressive  of 
an  idea. 

It  is  true  that  the  rude  stone,  as  well  as  the  stone 
architecturally  treated,  is  by  no  means  devoid  of  the 
idea.  It  presents  always  an  emblematic  reminder  that 
some  one  who  has  served  society  in  some  way  is  here 
commemorated ;  but  it  does  not  tell  us  who  this  some 
one  was,  nor  what  he  has  done  to  be  remembered. 
Architecture  is  evidently  cognizant  of  this  defect  in 
its  own  system  to  express  more  directly  by  a  monu- 
ment the  person  commemorated,  and  resorts  to  inscrip- 
tions and  sculpture  to  supply  the  deficiency.  The 
Prince  Albert  monument  may  serve  as  an  illustration 
of  this.  Now  Prince  Albert  certainly  rendered  great 
service  to  the  British  nation.  Bom  and  bred  in  a 
countiy  where  in  our  day  an  atmosphere  of  profound 
thought  affects  even  princes,  and  called  to  a  station 


MONUMENTS. 


265 


where  that  direct  shaping  and  modelling  of  the  des- 
tinies of  a  nation  was  not  permitted  him,  which  early 
training  and  habit  had  taught  him  to  be  the  function 
of  kings,  he  did  not  waste  his  energies  upon  a  revolu- 
tionary attempt  to  acquire  authority  which  in  the  end 
could  not  accomplish  more,  nor  as  much  as  has  been 
accomplished  by  his  intellectual  superiority  supported 
by  high  social  position.  England's  greatness  is  the 
result  of  her  insular  position  and  of  her  coal-fields. 
Commerce  and  mechanical  industry  are  the  sources  of 
British  power  and  wealth.  If  there  is  a  way  by  which 
British  industry  can  learn  something  which  it  does 
not  yet  know,  the  exhibition  on  British  soil  of  the  in- 
dustry of  other  nations  will  bring  that  information  to 
her  doors.  If  there  is,  on  the  other  hand,  superiority 
in  British  means  and  energy  of  which  the  world  is  not 
now  sufficiently  informed,  the  same  means  will  effect 
favorable  results.  And  finally,  such  an  exhibition  must 
benefit  all  nations  which  participate  in  it  as  well  as  Eng- 
land ;  and  its  immediate  result  must  be  an  encourage- 
ment of  trade,  in  which,  by  the  nature  of  things,  Eng- 
land will  again  enjoy  her  due  share.  As  far  back  as 
we  are  informed  by  history,  nations  and  governments 
have  wasted  their  strength  and  energies,  the  substance 
and  blood  of  the  citizen,  in  wars  which  form  the  con- 
tents of  its  pages  and  claim  our  attention  and  admira- 
tion,— the  cause  or  object  of  which  was  nothing  more 
than  certain  advantages  of  trade,  the  acquisition  of  a 
port  or  a  province  which  promised  resources  of  wealth 
in  some  form.  The  Russian  policy  of  the  last  three 
centuries  may  serve  as  an  illustration  in  point.  The 
first  exhibition  of  the  industry  of  all  nations,  as  origin- 
ated by  Prince  Albert,  resulted  in  greater  benefits  to 


268 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


the  Britisli  nation  than  did  the  most  successful  and 
famous  wars. 

What  is  here  presented  as  a  synopsis  of  the  idea 
which  underlies  the  project  of  the  Industrial  Exhibi- 
tion of  1851,  is  doubtless  voluminously  expressed  in  the 
transactions  of  that  enterprise,  and  has  been  detailed 
in  printed  works  innumerable.  It  is  possessed  of  a 
political  and  social  interest  which  has  been,  and  may 
hereafter  be,  rendered  in  art,  such  as  paintings,  sculp- 
ture, music,  and  poetry.  An  architectural  monument 
to  Prince  Albert,  considered  in  the  light  of  the  present 
day,  should  contemplate  a  structure,  of  moderate  di- 
mensions perhaps,  but  yet  a  structure  accessible  and 
roomy  enough  to  contain,  say,  in  two  or  more  cells,  the 
historical  and  artistic  matter  now  accumulated  or  here- 
after to  be  contributed  to  the  illustration  of  the  idea 
of  an  exhibition  of  universal  industry,  which  may  be 
seen  and  examined  by  visitors,  and  furnish  direct  in- 
formation as  to  the  work  done  by  the  person  com- 
memorated. The  Industrial  Exhibition  has  here  been 
singled  out  as  a  phase  in  the  life  of  Prince  Albert  suit- 
able for  commemoration;  but  it  is  by  no  means  the 
only  act  of  his  life  deserving  of  it.  An  endless  number 
of  social  organizations  contemplating  human  advance- 
ment, owe  to  him  gratitude  for  guidance  and  practical 
support ;  not  to  mention  the  high  standard  of  his  per- 
sonal moral  conduct,  and  an  exemplary  family  relation, 
which  may  well  serve  as  a  model  to  kings  and  citizens. 
All  this  and  more,  which  needs  no  mention  here,  but 
which  goes  to  make  up  the  biographical  history  of 
Prince  Albert,  will  contribute  material  which  should 
find  a  fitting  place  in  such  a  monument.  Then  there 
is  the  art  celebration  of  other  persons  who  have  been 


MONUMENTS. 


267 


intimately  connected  with  his  enterprises,  and  wlio 
have  given  direction  by  their  personal  influence  to  his 
thoughts  and  acts ;  they  also  must  be  included  in  the 
possibilities  of  such  a  monument.  If  we  now  proceed 
to  model  a  monument  to  commemorate  Prince  Albert, 
we  may  devise  three  single  cells  of  nearly  equal  value 
as  to  magnitude,  which  shall  contain,  respectively, 
first,  all  literary  matter  connected  with  the  first  Uni- 
versal Exhibition  of  Industry;  second,  all  historical 
matter  connected  with  his  life  and  the  lives  of  others 
associated  with  him  in  useful  enterprises ;  and,  third, 
all  art  matter,  such  as  bas-reliefs,  paintings,  engravings, 
etc.,  etc.,  pertaining  to  both.  These  three  cells  may  be 
ranged  on  three  sides  of  a  greater  central  cell,  which 
may  be  the  Walhalla  of  the  monument,  containing 
statues,  busts,  etc.,  of  the  hero  of  the  monument  and 
his  associates,  and  mural  bas-reliefs  of  allegorical 
allusion  to  his  history.  It  is  not  necessary  here  to 
enter  upon  an  exact  description  of  the  further  arrange- 
ment of  the  needed  entrance  hall  and  vestibules,  the 
offices  for  the  management  and  service  connected  with 
the  monument ;  for  enough  has  been  said  to  show  that 
a  structural  treatment  would  not  only  reveal  the  exact 
nature  of  the  monument,  but  would  furnish  to  a  visitor 
the  material  out  of  which  a  perfect  and  complete  his- 
tory of  the  man  commemorated,  and  of  his  works,  could 
be  readily  formed. 

There  was  a  time  once  when  men  attested  documents 
with  a  device  imprinted  in  wax,  with  the  hilt  of  their 
sword  or  a  signet  ring.  But  the  time  of  seals  has 
gone  by,  because  men  have  learned  to  write  their 
names.  There  is  no  reason  wh}^  the  monumental  stone, 
with  its  hieroglyphic  inscriptions  and  allegorical  stat- 


268 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


ues,  should  not  yield  to  an  organized  structural  monu- 
ment, wliich,  as  a  library  and  art  museum  combined, 
contains  such  positive  information  as  the  progress  of 
the  age  is  capable  of  furnishing  to  posterity.  Nor  can 
we  doubt  for  a  moment  that  the  interior  of  a  structure 
arranged  to  express  its  use,  function,  contents,  and 
human  occupants,  and  an  exterior  arising  from  its 
grouping,  will  convey  a  more  vivid  expression  of  the 
idea  which  called  it  into  being,  or  of  the  person  it  is 
intended  to  commemorate,  than  the  mere  monumental 
stone  of  the  past  and  the  present. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


FOEM  AND  CONSTRUCTION. 

Aechitectural  construction  teaches  the  application 
of  well-known  mathematical  reasoning  to  questions 
arising  in  statical  mechanics.  It  deals  primarily  with 
the  laws  which  determine  the  just  proportions  of  mat- 
ter under  a  given  relation,  and  with  the  use  of  certain 
given  materials ;  and,  secondly,  it  investigates  possible 
forms  or  possible  relations  of  material,  as  also  the  appli- 
cation of  mechanical  laws  to  all  available  materials  for 
all  possible  purposes.  In  this  manner  methods  of  con- 
struction are  multiplied,  and  new  materials  are  brought 
into  use.  Methods  of  construction  are  geometrical  de- 
monstrations in  matter  of  mechanical  ideas,  and  are  for 
that  reason  not  works  of  fine  art.  Fine  art  means 
representation  and  not  demonstration.  The  author  of 
a  demonstration  of  an  idea  is,  therefore,  not  an  artist, — ■ 
but  inasmuch  as  the  work  produced  by  him  is  to  the 
uninformed  mind  often  a  satisfactory  representation  of 
an  idea,  without  becoming  absolutely  a  demonstration 
(which  can  be  the  case  only  when  the  construction  is 
mathematically  understood),  the  effect  upon  the  sub- 
ject is  very  much  akin  to  that  of  a  work  of  fine  art 
in  this,  that  it  produces  surprise,  or,  as  it  is  commonly 
called,  a  pleasurable  emotion. 

Surprise  is  enhanced  in  the  degree  in  which  the 
269 


270 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


construction  excels  as  a  scientific  achievement,  and 
also  in  the  degree  in  which  the  essence  of  the  argu- 
ment involved  is  sufficiently  revealed  to  betray,  not 
the  scheme  itself,  but  its  fitness  for  the  purpose. 

Methods  of  construction  also  appeal  to  the  imagina- 
tion, and  compel  admiration  for  boldness  of  concep- 
tion, daring,  and  enterprise.  Hence  it  follows  that 
superior  or  inferior  methods  are  applied  to  monumen- 
tal structures  in  the  degree  in  which  these  monuments 
rank  in  the  scale  of  ideas  represented  by  them. 

It  needs  no  special  argument  to  show  that  form  is 
the  result  of  construction,  and  that  construction  de- 
termines the  elements  of  form.  Form  and  construc- 
tion are  indeed  so  intimately  related  that  they  may  be 
advantageously  connected  in  the  same  chapter,  and 
that  we  may,  as  it  were,  step  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  gain  thereby  in  the  understanding  of  both. 

It  is  rarely  the  case  that  one  and  the  same  struc- 
ture represents  more  than  one  idea ;  but  inasmuch  as 
fine  art  deals  with  acts  and  emotions  (phases  of  an 
idea),  we  can  point  to  but  few  modern  monuments 
which  do  not  involve  the  consideration  of  a  number 
of  acts  and  emotions ;  and  it  needs  to  be  considered 
what  elements  of  form  and  construction  may  be  used  to 
serve  the  architect  in  expressing  them.  To  illustrate  : 
the  Greek  temple  contemplates  the  idea  religion^  also 
a  Jiahitation  for  its  services,  a  receptacle  of  the  god, 
accessible  only  to  a  priest,  whose  act,  whatever  it  may 
be,  forms  no  element  in  the  structure,  as  this  act  is 
not  observed  by  any  one.  No  congregation  is  admitted 
inside  the  temple.  So  far  as  the  people  are  concerned 
this  temj^le  is  the  habitation  of  a  statue  without  func- 
tion or  motion ;  and  it  follows  that  this  purpose  may 


FORM  AND  C0N8TRUCTI0K 


271 


be  represented  by  a  single  cell  wMcli  needs  expression 
only  on  the  outside.  A  Christian  church,  on  the  other 
hand,  admits  into  its  interior  the  whole  congregation, 
and  accommodates  various  groups  as  they  range 
themselves  for  prayer,  private  and  congregational, 
music,  confession,  baptism,  the  communion,  processions, 
and  sermons.  The  service  and  government  of  the 
church  also  demand  vestry-rooms,  a  chapter-house, 
corridors,  and  cloisters  ;  and  thus  a  church  structure 
may  be  termed  a  group  of  cells.  In  this  case,  as  in 
many  others,  cells  need  not  be  separated  from  each 
other  by  walls,  but  may  be  indicated  by  colonnades, 
screens,  or  archways,  for  the  reason  that  the  separation 
does  not  arise  from  a  physical  necessity  but  from  an 
aesthetic  necessity  which  demands  a  representation  of 
the  separate  acts  which  illustrate  the  idea  in  the  organ- 
ism of  the  group ;  and  also  for  the  purpose  of  distin- 
guishing special  acts  by  giving  greater  height  to  the 
cells  devoted  to  them,  and  a  more  refined  treatment 
in  modelling  and  decoration. 

It  frequently  occurs  that  the  architect  is  called  upon 
to  join  two  or  more  groups,  as  is  the  case,  for  instance, 
in  parliamentary  structures.  Such  a  combination  of 
groups  becomes  a  pile,  wherein  the  groups  are  sep- 
arated sufficiently  to  prevent  practical  inconvenience, 
and  mainly  to  give  an  expression  to  the  whole,  which 
will  tell  the  story  of  the  functions  of  each  group,  and 
hence  of  the  whole  pile. 

A  series  of  single  cells,  co-ordinate  in  their  import 
and  use,  may  be  treated  as  divisions  of  one  great  single 
cell,  as,  for  instance,  the  rooms  of  a  hospital,  prison-cells, 
warehouse  divisions,  clerks'  rooms  attached  to  one  and 
the  same  department,  committee-rooms,  etc.    If  in  such 


272 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


a  Mve  it  becomes  necessary  to  distinguisli  one  or  more 
special  cells,  it  may  be  done  by  simply  accentuating 
and  grouping  their  openings  as  well  as  by  distinguish- 
ing them  from  others  in  magnitude,  special  modelling, 
and  decoration.  This  may  be  done,  say  in  a  warehouse 
where  the  proprietor's  office  occupies  an  appreciable 
part  of  the  building ;  or  in  the  case  of  a  physician's 
room  in  a  hospital,  etc.  But  in  structures  of  a  mon- 
umental character  it  should  be  the  care  of  the  archi- 
tect to  see  that  the  representation  of  no  separate  pur- 
pose of  the  structure  be  omitted,  for  all  features  of  it, 
if  justly  treated,  contribute  to  its  expression. 

It  is  the  function  of  the  architect,  in  the  first  place, 
to  master  the  idea  to  be  expressed,  to  understand  the 
various  methods  used  to  illustrate  it  by  acts,  and  to 
appreciate  the  import  of  the  resulting  emotions,  that  he 
may  be  able  to  designate  the  various  human  groups 
which  form  the  basis  of  his  design. 

It  is  often  the  case  that  the  proprietors  of  buildings, 
or  managers  of  building  enterprises,  commissioners, 
committees,  or  other  persons  do  not  understand  the 
relation  between  the  idea  and  the  structure,  or  the 
meaning  of  the  structure  as  a  work  of  fine  art.  In 
that  case  the  architect  must  supply  the  defect  and 
point  out  these  relationships;  he  must,  if  need  be, 
awaken  a  sufiicient  interest  to  supplant  the  prevailing 
prejudice  that  a  structure  is  merely  intended  as  a  con- 
venient shelter  for  its  occupants. 

The  next  step  is  to  determine  the  magnitude  and 
form  of  the  single  cells  and  their  relative  positions,  the 
modelling,  as  it  were,  of  the  group.  This  process  is 
impossible  either  as  a  problem  for  the  imagination,  or 
as  a  fact  to  be  reduced  to  dramng,  without  a  thorough 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION, 


273 


knowledge  of  methods  of  construction  and  of  the  princi- 
ples whicli  govern  these  methods.  We  cannot  think  of 
spaces  merely ;  we  must  think  of  them  as  surrounded  by 
matter.  This  matter  is  called  into  use,  and  its  mass  is 
determined  by  laws  of  mechanical  construction.  Now 
it  is  not  true  that  a  structure  (a  monumental  structure) 
is,  first  of  all,  a  shelter,  a  place  for  human  convenience, 
and  afterward  an  object  of  fine  art — that  the  domain 
of  architecture  begins  when  the  engineer  and  builder 
have  done  their  work  of  planning.  It  will  be  too  late 
then.  Architectural  art  must,  as  we  have  seen,  initiate 
the  work  and  take  hold  of  it  at  the  very  beginning. 

Why  is  it,  then,  that  a  different  view  of  the  func- 
tions of  construction  and  architectural  art  is  enter- 
tained by  a  large  majority  of  modern  architects  ?  An 
examination  of  this  may  help  us  to  a  better  under- 
standing of  the  true  relations  of  construction  to  archi- 
tecture as  a  fine  art.  Many  architects  believe  that 
every  structure  is  a  single  cell,  the  outer  form  of 
which  has  no  special  relation  to  its  interior.  Archi- 
tects love  to  modify  this  single  cell  in  its  outline, 
especially  if  it  be  of  a  respectable  magnitude  ;  but 
these  very  modifications  amount  only  to  arbitrary  pro- 
jections which  are  not  the  result  of  a  relation  of  parts. 
In  addition  to  this  they  view  a  structure  as  consisting 
of  three  parts — an  exterior  and  an  interior  (which  need 
artistic  consideration),  and  the  construction  proper, 
which  is  placed  between  the  two,  and  which  needs  no 
artistic  treatment.  This  construction  is  to  be  overlaid 
on  both  sides  with  forms  which  please  the  fancy  of 
their  author.  These  forms  do  not  involve  mechanical 
ideas,  inasmuch  as  they  may  be  afiixed  to,  or  supported 

by,  the  real  construction.    Can  this  be  architecture  ? 
18 


274 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


No.  If  construction  were  the  vulgar  thing  it  is  said 
to  be,  the  work  of  the  mere  builder  or  engineer  ;  if  this 
construction  were  not  an  integral  part  or  motive  in  the 
aesthetic  development  of  a  monument,  and  if  it  were 
not  possible  so  to  modify  this  vulgar  thing  as  to  make 
it  an  art  work,  why  then,  surely,  it  would  be  well  to 
conceal  it  from  sight  with  something  that  is  recognized 
as  a  work  of  fine  art,  say  with  hangings,  screens,  and 
paintings,  with  anything  that  is  capable  of  expressing 
an  idea  in  matter,  and  which  is  not  itself  a  mechanical 
construction.  But  what  is  really  done  is  this :  the  real 
construction  is  covered  with  a  false  construction  which 
is  not  applicable  here,  or  with  an  impossible  construc- 
tion not  borrowed  from  anything  real,  but  purely  the 
result  of  architectural  aberration,  a  thing  which,  if 
really  built  of  stone  or  wood  or  any  material  capable 
of  doing  mechanical  work,  would  fall  to  pieces  by  rea- 
son of  its  own  weight,  but  which  the  ingenious  artist 
persuades  to  stay  in  its  place  by  making  it  of  plaster, 
zinc,  cast-iron,  or  something  else  in  imitation  of  stone, 
or  wood,  and  sustaining  it  by  means  of  nails  and  bolts. 

Now,  why  do  architects  do  this?  Obviously  be- 
cause they  prefer  this  sham  construction  to  the  real 
construction;  they  like  its  form  better.  Then  the 
question  arises,  Why  not  use  the  construction  they 
prefer,  and  discard  the  one  really  employed?  The 
reason  why  this  is  not  done  is  that  they  have  lost  the 
art  of  architecture,  the  art  of  building.  The  forms 
they  affect  are  not  regarded  by  them  as  constructions 
at  all,  but  as  an  aggregation  of  pretty  things  derived 
from  interesting  antique  and  mediaeval  monuments, 
where  they  have  a  charming  effect. 

The  Greeks  covered  the  walls  of  their  temples  at 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION. 


275 


the  top  witli  a  liberal  stone  wliich  reached  over  far 
beyond  the  outside  of  these  walls,  and  protected  them 
from  the  weather.  The  modelling  of  these  cornices 
from  the  beginning  of  the  architrave  to  the  corona 
shows  a  movement  everywhere  constructively  exquisite 
and  expressive  of  the  function  of  protection  which  this 
member  afforded  to  the  walls  beneath.  Let  us  see 
how  Mr.  Fergusson,  an  ardent  admirer  of  antique 
work,  contemplates  these  mouldings.  He  tells  us 
that  ^^the  first  and  most  obvious  of  these  (carved 
ornaments)  are  mere  mouldings,  known  to  architects 
as  scotias,  cavettos,  ogees,  toruses,  rolls,  etc. — curves 
which,  used  in  various  proportions  either  horizontally 
or  vertically,  produce,  when  artistically  combined,  the 
most  pleasing  effect." 

To  him  evidently  these  mouldings  are  not  a  modifi- 
cation of  matter  in  order  to  express  parts  of  a  struc- 
ture, or  to  emphasize  their  function,  but  they  are 
things  of  no  meaning  whick  may  be  artistically  ar- 
ranged, and  thus  produce  a  pleasing  effect.  What  a 
pity  that  Mr.  Fergusson  gives  no  definition  of  this 
"  effect,"  nor  explains  in  some  comprehensive  manner 
how  these  ogees  and  toruses  may  be  artistically  com- 
bined ! 

The  first  and  foremost  element  of  art  expression  in 
architecture  is  to  be  attained  in  the  form  of  its  masses. 
This  form  is  not  accepted  as  the  result  of  mechanical 
relations,  but  of  certain  laws  of  proportion  otherwise 
determined.  Stability,  massiveness,  strength,  ele- 
gance, and  repose — all  of  them  qualities  which  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree  must  exist  in  every  monument — 
are  clearly  expressions  of  a  statical  condition  of  matter 
of  whick  the  mechanical  relation  is  a  constant  function ; 


276 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


and  yet  proportion  in  architecture  is  supposed  not  to 
refer  to  those  laws,  nor,  in  fact,  to  any  real  law  whatever. 

If  structural  masses  could  be  piled  up  without  refer- 
ence to  the  mechanical  laws  of  construction,  and  yet 
-without  risk  of  danger  to  the  stability  of  the  monu- 
ment, a  relation  of  masses  which  gives  the  expression 
of  stability  would  still  remain  a  desideratum.  Archi- 
tecture as  a  fine  art  deals  most  prominently  with  this 
very  expression.  Should  we  then  seek  it  in  the  laws 
of  mechanics  or  in  the  magical  numbers  of  so-called 
proportions?  "What  man  has  invented  a  system  of 
proportion  in  masses  that  perform  mechanical  func- 
tions more  just  or  better  adapted  to  the  purpose  than 
that  which  is  dictated  by  a  law  of  nature  ?  Where 
are  we  to  find  him  ?  Has  he  written  a  book  on  the 
subject  ?  Mr.  Fergusson  gives  us  some  hints.  Let  us 
see  if  we  can  understand  them  and  make  use  of  them 
in  following  this  path  of  art  without  the  guidance  of 
nature.  He  says :  "  Construction  has  been  shown  to  be 
the  chief  aim  and  object  of  the  engineer ;  mth  him  it 
is  all  in  all,  and  to  construct  scientifically,  and  at  the 
same  time  economically,  is  the  beginning  and  end  of 
his  endeavors.  It  is  far  otherwise  with  the  architect. 
Construction  ought  to  be  his  handmaid,  useful  to  assist 
him  in  carrying  out  his  design,  but  never  his  mistress, 
controlling  him  in  that  which  he  would  otherwise  think 
expedient.  An  architect  ought  always  to  allow  himself 
such  a  margin  of  strength  that  he  may  disregard  and 
play  with  his  construction ;  and  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  the  money  spent  in  obtaining  this  solidity  will  be 
more  effective  architecturally  than  tmce  the  amount 
expended  on  ornament,  however  elegant  and  appropri- 
ate that  may  be." 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION, 


277 


The  advice  here  offered  to  tlie  architect,  "that  con- 
struction ought  to  be  his  handmaid,"  "  useful  to  assist 
him  in  carrying  out  his  design,"  clearly  explains  it  to 
be  the  author's  opinion  that  a  contemplated  design  has 
existence  outside  and  independent  of  construction; 
that  this  design  represents  a  monument  possessed  of 
the  qualities  of  massiveness,  strength,  elegance,  and  re- 
pose, which  qualities  are  not  derived  from  any  law  that 
determines  these  mechanical  conditions,  but  from  some 
other  source.  The  nature  of  this  source  is  explained 
in  the  following  sentence  :  "  That  the  architect  should 
do  what  ^  seems  to  him  expedient,' "  and  not  what  the 
poor  vulgar  engineer  finds  to  be  scientifically  just. 
Can  it  be  expedient  at  any  time  to  change  that  which 
is  dictated  by  a  law  of  nature  ?  But  then  we  are  to 
make  our  masses  much  larger  than  they  would  be  if 
we  were  governed  solely  by  the  dictates  of  sound  me- 
chanical construction?  This  is  wise,  no  doubt.  A 
monument  cannot  well  be  made  too  strong,  nor  very 
often  too  massive.  But  we  are  not  to  permit  posterity 
to  be  benefited  by  this  massiveness ;  we  are  to  "  play  " 
Avith  it,  to  reduce  it  here,  and  increase  it  there,  in  "  dis- 
regard "  of  the  laws  of  construction,  to  gain  what  ? 
This  Mr.  Fergusson  omits  to  tell  us ;  but  it  cannot  be 
doubted  that  he  intends  in  some  way  to  improve  the 
relation  of  these  masses.  Can  this  be  done  ?  This  is 
a  very  serious  question,  and  no  one  has,  as  yet,  answered 
it ;  for  in  no  phase  of  architectural  art  which  is  now 
universally  recognized  as  true  art,  has  this  been  attempt- 
ed ;  quite  the  contrary.  In  all  good  architectural  work 
we  find  a  strict  adherence  to  mechanical  laws,  which 
is  the  more  surprising,  because  we  understand  the  theory 
of  these  laws  so  much  more  clearly  than  did  the  archi- 


278  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


tects  wlio  produced  those  works.  We  may  be  sure  that 
they  did  not  play  with  this  matter,  whatever  they  did. 
We  must  give  them  credit  for  a  zealous  regard  for  con- 
struction, and  for  untiring  efforts  to  make  construction 
the  prime  element  of  art.  They  may  not  have  always 
expressed  ideas  which  we  admire,  or  are  willing  to 
adopt ;  but  the  ideas  which  they  believed  in  they  ex- 
pressed faithfully  and  well.  Construction,  the  most 
perfect  and  the  boldest,  the  most  refined  methods  of 
dealiiig  with  matter,  were  the  principal  element  of  their 
art  work.  And  when  we  go  back  to  the  temples  of 
Egypt,  to  Karnac,  where  one  half  of  the  area  of  an 
architectural  monument  is  devoted  to  walls  and  col- 
umns, we  still  find  no  disregard  of  constmction,  no  at- 
tempt to  play  with  masses  for  fantastic  and  imaginary 
purposes,  for  lights,  shadows,  sentiment,  and  effects, 
which  are  so  much  talked  about  in  our  day,  but  which 
have,  as  yet,  yielded  no  results  worthy  of  being  em- 
balmed in  too  much  of  nature's  stone,  nor  in  too  much 
of  human  labor. 

In  pursuing  further  Mr.  Fergusson's  remarks  on  the 
subject  of  construction,  we  learn  that  "the  Egyptians 
and  the  Greeks  were  so  convinced  of  this  principle  " 
(of  allowing  a  margin  of  strength  to  be  played  with) 
"  that  they  never  used  other  constructive  expedients 
than  the  perpendicular  wall  or  prop,  supporting  a 
horizontal  beam;  and  half  the  satisfactory  effect  of 
their  buildings  arises  from  their  adhering  to  this  simple 
though  expensive  mode  of  construction.  They  were 
perfectly  acquainted  with  the  use  of  the  arch  and  its 
properties ;  but  they  knew  that  its  employment  would 
introduce  complexity  and  confusion  into  their  designs, 
and  therefore  they  wisely  rejected  it.    Even  to  the 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION, 


279 


present  day  tlie  Hindoos  refuse  to  use  the  arcli,  though 
it  has  long  been  employed  in  their  country  by  the  Mo- 
hammedans. As  they  quaintly  express  it,  ^  The  arch 
never  sleeps ; '  and  it  is  true  that  by  its  thrust  and  pres- 
sure it  is  always  tending  to  tear  a  building  to  pieces 
in  spite  of  all  counterpoises.  Whenever  the  smallest 
damage  is  done,  it  hastens  the  ruin  of  a  building, 
which,  if  more  simply  constructed,  might  last  for 
ages." 

If  the  system  of  piers  and  lintels  is  pronounced  a 
superior  construction  to  that  of  the  arch,  on  the  ground 
of  its  superior  stability,  that  system  must  for  the  same 
reason  yield  the  palm  to  the  solid  pyramid  ;  and  progress 
in  architecture  can  only  be  attained  by  retrogression. 

At  the  bottom  of  all  this  we  may  see  a  misconcep- 
tion of  the  laws  of  construction.  All  matter  is  subject 
to  gravitation,  and  every  organism  in  consequence 
deteriorates  with  time.  Whether  this  time  shall  be 
short  or  long,  depends  not  upon  the  magnitude  of  the 
masses  employed  so  much  as  upon  their  relation.  It 
depends  upon  this ;  whether  the  relation  is  in  accord- 
ance with  the  principles  involved  in  the  construction 
adopted  or  not. 

To  say  that  the  Egyptians  and  Greeks  knew  the 
arch  system  of  vaulting  as  we  find  it  in  mediaeval 
cathedrals,  or  as  the  arching  of  spaces  may  be  done  in 
the  light  of  modern  mechanics,  is  probably  not  what 
the  author  of  the  "History  of  Architecture  in  all 
Countries  "  intended  to  convey.  He  probably  refers 
merely  to  the  arch  over  an  opening  in  the  field  of  a 
wall.  That  the  arch  never  sleeps  only  means  that  all 
matter  is  possessed  of  the  property  of  gravitation,  the 
law  of  which  is  not  as  universally  understood  in  the 


280 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


case  of  the  resultant  lateral  pressure  of  the  arch  and 
its  order  of  equilibrium  as  the  more  simple  law  of  the 
pressure  of  the  lintel.  We  cannot  advance  the  process 
of  expressing  an  idea  in  a  monument,  either  by  resort- 
ing exclusively  to  primitive  methods  of  construction  or 
by  ignoring  its  laws  in  trifling  with  structural  masses 
to  suit  our  fancy.  All  known  constructions,  from  the 
simplest  to  the  most  refined  or  complicated,  should  be 
brought  into  requisition  by  the  architect  as  a  means  to 
express  corresponding  ideas,  simple  or  complicated, 
materialistic  or  refined.  It  is  perfectly  consistent  with 
the  stability  of  a  monument  to  employ  a  system  of 
vaulting,  provided  its  lines  and  abutments  are  mechan- 
ically considered  and  arranged.  Such  a  structure  can 
be  made  fully  as  stable  as  a  mere  pile  of  stones  in 
a  pyramid. 

When  a  group  of  cells  is  projected  in  a  ground  plan, 
and  the  altitude  of  the  cells  determined  with  due 
regard  to  their  individual  importance,  the  various 
roofs  outlined,  and  the  openings  for  light  are  arranged, 
as  to  size  and  position,  with  reference  to  practically 
lighting  and  aesthetically  illuminating  the  interior ;  if 
the  structure  is  composed  in  accordance  with  mechan- 
ical principle,  and  a  perspective  view  of  such  a  compo- 
sition painted  on  canvas  in  black  against  a  light  back- 
ground, it  will  fairly  represent  the  masses  in  the  rough, 
and  will  effectually  express  the  nature  of  the  structure, 
and  the  accruing  forms  will  be  aesthetically  correct. 
Such  a  picture  is,  as  far  as  a  drawing  on  a  reduced 
scale  can  be  made  to  be,  a  representation  of  the  pho- 
netic expression  of  the  contemplated  monument.  No 
additional  expression  can  be  attained  by  modelling,  by 
carved  and  color  decoration,  or  the  introduction  of  stat- 
uary. All  these  only  serve  to  accentuate,  or  to  heighten 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION.  281 


the  ex23ression  iiilierent  in  tlie  structural  masses,  but  not 
to  add  to  it.  If  this  picture  seems  still  lacking  in 
expression  tlie  artist  must  look  for  the  probable  defects, 
first,  in  a  misapprehension  of  the  idea ;  second,  of  the 
acts  illustrating  the  idea;  and,  third,  of  the  groups 
prompted  by  the  emotions  arising  from  the  acts; 
fourth,  in  the  absence  of  a  just  arrangement  of  the 
cells  in  relation  to  each  other ;  and,  finally,  in  bad  or 
feeble  construction.  The  latter  may  be  bad  because, 
first,  the  author  of  the  design  does  not  understand 
the  principles  involved  ;  or,  second,  he  may  understand 
those  principles,  and  fail  to  apply  them ;  or,  third,  he 
may  not  be  familiar  with  known  methods  of  construc- 
tion, or  capable  of  devising  methods  to  suit  the  case ; 
or,  fourth,  because  the  order  of  elegance  of  construc- 
tive methods  does  not  correspond  with  the  importance 
of  the  individual  cells. 

It  would  be  of  no  use  to  retouch  an  unsuccessful 
group  of  this  kind,  without  due  reasoning,  merely  in 
accordance  with  personal  feeling,  or  in  accordance  with 
forms  which  at  some  time  have  made  a  favorable  im- 
pression upon  us ;  nor  to  pile  on  additional  features 
that  have  no  foundation  in  fact;  nor  to  strike  out 
those  that  have  this  foundation  in  fact ;  nor  to  make 
the  whole  larger  or  smaller.  It  will  not  help  us  to  add 
favorable  surroundings  which  do  not  exist ;  nor  to  fret 
and  fume  over  it  and  wipe  it  all  out,  in  order  to  sub- 
stitute something  else  which  foggily  exists  in  our  brain ; 
nor  to  rush  to  a  collection  of  books  and  photographs 
to  look  for  better  things,  unless  it  be  for  the  purpose 
of  examining  them  critically  in  their  individual  relation, 
and  to  find  by  that  means  where,  in  our  composition, 
we  have  failed  either  to  do  that  which  is  true  and  just, 


282 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


or  to  achieve  an  expression  as  trutliful  and  brilliant  as 
may  seem  desirable  under  the  circumstances. 

If  you  find  that  your  dining  hall  bears  no  proper 
relation  to  your  library,  and  upon  examination  you  are 
convinced  that  it  is  not  your  fault,  but  that  your 
client  either  studies  or  eats  too  much,  let  it  be  so.  The 
structure  must  express  the  morale  of  your  client,  not 
yours. 

But  above  all  things  do  not  search  for  special  ef- 
fects. Do  not  expand  a  plain  country  house  into  a 
palace,  nor  squeeze  it  into  a  cottage,  nor  into  any 
known  or  given  shape,  because  you  admire  that  shape 
more  than  others.  Do  not  add  battlements  when  there 
is  no  opportunity  to  walk  behind  them,  because  you 
think  this  a  fine  mediaeval  feature.  Do  not  build  a 
buttress  because  you  think  you  would  like  to  have  a 
mass  in  this  place  and  a  shadow  next  to  it.  Do  not 
sketch  balconies  where  the  orientation  of  the  structure 
or  the  surrounding  landscape  does  not  warrant  such  a 
feature;  nor  bay-windows,  nor  porticos,  nor  any  other 
appendage  of  this  nature,  unless  they  are  needed,  not 
merely  physically  but  aesthetically;  that  is,  unless  the 
going  out  upon  such  balconies,  or  the  entering  into 
bay-Avindows  affords  a  mental  entertainment  which 
cannot  otherwise  be  reached,  or  at  least  so  fully  en- 
joyed. 

But  if,  after  close  scrutiny  and  correction  for  good 
aesthetic  reasons,  the  groups  or  the  pile  fail  to  please 
you,  what  then  ?  Consider  that  this  may  be  owing  to 
the  fact  that  you  are  not  familiar  with  the  forms  which 
result  from  your  idea  and  its  phases.  The  forms  you 
know  and  love  represent  other  ideas  than  those  you 
are  endeavoring  to  treat ;  and  you  may  be  sure  if  you 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION, 


283 


have  otherwise  committed  no  error  of  judgment,  you 
are  on  tlie  road  to  a  good  architectural  result.  Pro- 
ceed with  your  work,  model  the  parts,  decorate  them 
in  accordance  with  their  functions,  and  before  long 
the  thing  will  speak  to  you  in  a  new  language  express- 
ing new  thoughts;  it  will  speak  to  you  intelligibly, 
and  with  surprising  force,  and  you  will  admit  that 
this  is  by  far  the  best  arrangement  of  forms,  better  than 
you  could  have  imagined  them  in  your  most  enthusi- 
astic moods. 

The  question  may  now  be  asked.  Which  of  the  many 
scientific  constructions  is  the  architect  to  select  for  use 
in  his  monuments  ?  All  of  them.  None  must  be  re- 
jected ;  none  can  be  rejected ;  our  repertoire  is  small 
enough  as  it  is.  But  the  Egyptians  and  the  Greeks 
did  not  make  use  of  the  arch,  and  the  Normans  did 
not  use  the  pointed  arch.  The  Eg3rptians,  the  Greeks, 
and  the  Normans  did  perfectly  right  in  not  doing 
what  they  did  not  know  of.  You  can  have  no  such 
motive.  You  know  the  arch  in  all  the  forms  in  which 
it  has  been  used,  and  in  forms  in  which  it  has  not  been 
used,  as  yet,  to  any  extent ;  you  know  a  catenary  arch, 
an  arch  which  is  purely  a  curve  of  pressures ;  use  it, 
use  them  all,  not  indiscriminately,  not  unwisely,  but, 
as  they  are  all  at  your  command,  use  each  of  them 
whenever  it  is  the  best  thing  to  be  used. 

What  is  sad  to  see  is  a  flat  ceiling  divided  into 
impossible  panels,  supported  by  impossible  girders 
which  are  not  the  result  of  any  construction  whatever 
— a  ceiling  which,  if  it  were  attempted  to  be  built  in 
stone  or  wood,  would  drop  down  by  its  own  weight, 
but  which  is  worked  in  plaster  upon  a  framework  of 
wood,  and  tied  to  the  floor  beams  above. 


284 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


Look  at  the  constructions  tliat  have  resulted  from 
the  modem  invention  of  the  rolled  iron  beam.  All  of 
these  are  mere  attempts  to  cover  this  unfortunate 
beam  (one  of  the  cleverest  expedients  of  the  age),  and 
none  to  make  the  beam  itself  presentable,  to  arrange 
the  arches  between  the  beams  in  a  logical  manner  that 
they  may  be  sightly,  and  an  sesthetical  element. 

Look  at  the  treatment  of  cast-iron  columns  and 
other  structural  parts  made  possible  by  modem  use  of 
metals.  They  are  more  or  less  imitations  of  stone  and 
wood  constmctions ;  but  few  of  them  devised  by 
architects  are  modellings  which  can  possibly  result 
from  the  nature  of  the  metal,  yet  the  engineer  has 
developed  pure  metallic  forms  unknown  before,  simply 
because  he  derives  his  wisdom  from  the  laws  of 
mechanics.  But  how  can  we  preserve  purity  of  style 
in  architecture  if  we  are  to  use  and  to  exhibit  con- 
structions which  find  no  place  in  the  style  we  are 
working  in.  This  subject  of  style  we  must  reserve 
for  a  separate  chapter,  of  which  it  is  well  worthy. 
But  we  may  ask  here,  did  the  architects  of  the  Nor- 
man or  Gothic  school  neglect  constructive  elements 
because  they  interfered  with  the  style  of  the  day  or  of 
their  past  ?  If  this  had  been  so,  we  should  be  still 
engaged  in  building  pyramids.  The  elements  of  the 
architectural  results  of  any  time  are  construction  (in 
its  methods  and  perfection),  materials,  fundamental 
ideas,  mechanical  and  artistic  skill  in  their  develop- 
ment. Of  all  these  the  progress  of  construction  has 
exercised  the  most  potent  influence  upon  past  develop- 
ment of  architecture.  This  is  tme  of  the  state  of 
architecture  in  Europe  up  to  the  fourteenth  century, 
but  not  since. 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION. 


285 


A  post,  column,  or  strut  of  stone  or  wood,  meaning 
a  part  of  a  structure  whicli  is  subject  to  a  negative 
strain  (compression)  is  strongest  (the  transverse  area 
being  the  same)  if  it  is  circular  in  ground  plan.  Al- 
though this  fact  is  not  generally  known  to  laymen,  or 
thought  of  much  by  architects,  it  happens  that  when 
we  see  a  post  or  pier  which  has  a  circular  or  octagon 
ground  plan,  it  seems  to  us  stronger  than  a  square  pier 
containing  the  same  area  and  length.* 

From  this  there  is  but  a  short  step  to  the  impres- 
sion that  round  piers  or  columns  look  strong.  Hence 
it  is  that  the  jamb  of  an  opening  seems  more  rigid  if 
we  chamfer  its  corners.  This  is  actually  done,  not 
only  in  the  case  of  door  and  window  jambs  and  posts^ 
but  also  at  the  intrados  of  arches  and  ribs,  in  fact,  in 
all  parts  of  structure  which  are  subject  to  compression. 
More  frequently  the  reduction  is  accomplished  by 
modelling  the  corners  in  a  manner  which  still  more 
heightens  this  effect  by  imparting  to  it  an  expression 
of  strength  and  elegance  as  well  as  of  rigidity.  The 
transition  of  piers  to  their  bases  and  capitals,  the 
underside  of  projecting  corbels,  sill  courses,  and 
cornices  are  all  treated  in  a  similar  manner.  The 
Greeks  were  familiar  with  this  process,  and  practised 
it  in  modelling  their  columns  and  cornices,  but  did 
not  extend  it  to  the  jambs  of  their  doorways. 

The  purpose  of  modelling  masses  in  architectural 
work  is  to  make  the  functions  performed  more  appa- 
rent, and  to  heighten  the  expression  of  rigidity  in  the 
direction  in  which  the  forces  are  acting ;  also,  in  some 


*  The  experiment  is  easily  tried  by  comparing  a  square  and  round  post  of 
equal  length  and  area  ;  the  diameter  of  the  square  post  will  be  proportional 
to  the  diameter  of  the  round  post  as  1.7  is  to  3. 


286  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


cases,  to  multiply  the  apparent  surface  of  tlie  matter 
treated.  When  surfaces  are  moulded,  light  and  shade 
are  the  natural  result ;  but  light  and  shade  are  not  the 
object  of  the  process,  they  are  merely  an  incident. 

When  two  or  three  modelled  groups  of  a  stmcture 
succeed  each  other  perpendicularly,  the  organization  of 
the  lower  part  must  be  more  simple  than  the  one  im- 
mediately above  it,  and  there  should  be  a  relation  of 
mass  between  the  parts  whereby  they  continue  each 
other.  The  lower  pier,  may,  however,  be  a  simple 
shaft,  unless  the  organism  immediately  above  it  is  so 
highly  organized  as  to  produce  a  contrast  which  would 
make  the  inferior  organism  rude,  or  the  superior  one 
weak  or  meagre.  This  process  of  subdividing  masses 
by  modelling  w^as  undoubtedly  carried  to  excess  in 
late  mediaeval  work.  This  is  evidently  owing  to  an 
erroneous  tendency  to  attenuate  matter  for  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  a  sublime  spiritual  ex23ression  to  the 
work,  which  well  accords  with  the  ideas  of  Christianity 
of  the  times,  as  well  as  to  express  function  minutely. 
The  times  have  changed,  and  with  the  times  our  ideas 
have  changed ;  we  do  not  now  look  upon  matter  as 
the  despicable  thing  it  was  then  held  to  be.  This  is 
no  reason,  however,  why  we  should  reject  the  scheme 
of  Gothic  architecture,  as  it  is  vulgarly  termed,  or 
Christian  architecture,  as  Kugler  properly  calls  it. 
The  architecture  of  the  mediaeval  cathedrals,  considered 
as  a  system,  especially  when  we  contemplate  it  in  its 
principles  rather  than  in  its  completed  forms,  may, 
without  fear,  be  accepted  as  the  most  perfect  develop- 
ment of  ai'chitectural  art  known  to  us,  and  may  well 
serve  as  a  proper  starting-point  for  future  efforts, — al- 
ways provided  that  we  confine  ourselves  to  the  prin- 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION 


287 


ciples  manifested  in  it,  and  not  to  its  forms  ;  and  tliat 
we  apply  these  principles  to  create  such  forms  as  will 
express  our  own  ideas,  and  not  those  of  the  middle 
ages. 

The  analysis  of  the  human  body  is  the  work  of  the 
anatomist,  but  to  depict  human  emotions  in  stone  or 
on  canvas  is  the  work  of  the  artist.  He  deals  with 
the  material  motions  of  the  human  figure,  and  must, 
therefore,  understand  its  anatomy.  More  than  this,  the 
human  frame  is  created  to  the  artist's  hands,  and  we 
may  presume  that  nature  has  adopted  the  most  brill- 
iant construction  which  could  be  devised  to  combine 
expression  with  function.  It  is  the  problem  of  the 
architect  to  depict  the  emotions  of  the  structure  he 
deals  with ;  to  depict,  as  it  were,  the  soul  of  that 
structure.  But  the  emotions  of  this  soul,  like  the 
emotions  of  any  soul,  can  be  depicted  only  by  rep- 
resenting modifications  of  the  body  under  the  influ- 
ence of  emotions ;  and  for  that  purpose  the  architect 
must  understand  the  anatomy  of  his  structure,  which 
amounts  to  an  analytical  knowledge  of  its  construc- 
tion. More  than  this,  the  architect's  structure,  unlike 
the  painter's  or  the  sculptor's,  is,  in  the  first  place, 
necessarily  a  human  creation ;  not  a  natural  organism 
which  contains  within  itseK  a  perfect  system  of  me- 
chanical construction,  not  only  the  best  to  perform 
the  functions  assigned  to  it,  but  also  the  best  to  give 
expression  to  those  functions,  to  the  end  that  man 
may,  if  not  understand,  at  least  know  them  without 
a  scientific  analysis.  Thus  the  architect  must  create 
his  structure  (while  the  sculptor  and  painter  only 
re-create)  upon  principles  supplied  him  by  nature, 
which  are  the  principles  of  mechanics.   It  is  necessary, 


288 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


moreover,  that  his  construction  should  perform  not 
only  certain  physical  functions,  but  also  others  super- 
added to  these,  which  may  be  termed  ideal  functions, 
and  which  pertain  solely  to  the  ideas  which  have  called 
together  the  persons  occupy- ing  the  structure ;  and, 
finally,  this  construction  must  be  capable  of  an  expres- 
sion which  conveys  the  idea  of  the  motive  for  the 
existence  of  the  monument. 

This  knowledge  of  mechanical  construction  should 
be  also  sufficiently  positive  to  furnish  the  architect,  at 
every  stage  of  the  composition,  with  a  clear  view  of  the 
mechanical  relation  of  the  parts  of  the  stmcture  as  he 
.  develops  them,  that  he  may  at  all  times  in  the  produc- 
tion of  an  organism,  and  afterwards,  in  the  external 
modelling  of  its  parts,  justly  express  its  functions. 

Carved  ornament  and  color  decoration  have  no  other 
purpose  than  to  heighten  the  expression  of  mechanical 
resistance  to  load  and  pressure  in  /irchitectural  organ- 
isms. They  do  this  (as  will  be  hereafter  more  min- 
utely shown)  by  their  density,  magnitude,  projection, 
form,  and  the  direction  in  which  they  are  placed,  which 
direction  must  coincide  with  the  direction  of  resistance 
to  load  and  pressure.  They  do  it  also  by  the  peculiar 
treatment  known  as  conventionalizing  ornament,  by 
,  which  natural  forms  of  animals  and  vegetables  are  so 
modified  as  to  conform  to  the  nature  of  the  material 
in  which  they  are  wrought,  and  to  the  mechanical  work 
which  they  perform. 

The  motives  which  influence  modern  architects  in 
composing  a  design,  and  the  quality  of  mind  w^hicli  en- 
ables them  to  compose,  may  be  summed  up  as  personal 
notions  of  the  proper  character  of  the  structure,  and  of 
the  e£Eect  which  it  may  produce  upon  themselves  and 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTION. 


289 


others;  all  of  whicli  is  matter  of  taste.  This  taste 
some  admit  to  need  cultivation,  and  this  cultivation  is 
exclusively  sought  in  the  contemplation  of  the  archi- 
tectural work  of  the  past,  which  is  not  applicable  to 
the  needs  of  the  present,  and  which  tends  to  fill  the 
imagination  of  the  zealous  student  with  pictures  which 
it  would  be  better  he  should  not  know,  if  he  is  not  to 
analyze  them  intelligently ;  for  the  greatest  and  first 
lesson  which  they  teach  is  how  not  to  do  it. 

The  motive  which  governs  the  modern  architect  in 
composing  a  monument  may  be  stated  as  a  desire  to 
please  the  public,  or,  as  he  says,  produce  a  favorable 
effect.  The  education  of  the  architect  consists  in  looking 
at  architectural  forms  which  have  produced  favorable 
effects  upon  others.  Such  a  course  of  education  can- 
not certainly  be  productive  of  new  forms  or  of  a  proper 
use  of  old  forms.  In  truth  a  proper  art  use  of  old 
forms  under  new  conditions  is  a  practical  impossibility. 
To  illustrate  :  a  painter  who  depicts  the  warrior  paints 
him  in  mediaeval  armor ;  he  thinks  a  knight  in  armor 
exceedingly  picturesque.  The  word  picturesque  with 
him  embodies  all  that  is  good  and  proper  in  the  way  of 
dress,  accoutrement,  and  physical  development  respond- 
ing to  a  system  of  attack  and  defence  carried  on  with 
certain  given  weapons  and  with  an  armor  devised  to  re- 
sist these  weapons.  If  you  visit  the  studio  of  this  art- 
ist you  will  find  there  swords,  foils,  breastplates,  hel- 
mets, spears,  and  chain-armor — in  fine,  every  contriv- 
ance of  offence  and  defence  known  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
The  artist  has  lived  among  these  objects  so  long  that 
he  is  able  to  draw  them  on  paper  or  paint  them  on 
canvas  in  every  conceivable  combination  consistent 

with  their  use.    What  is  more,  he  has  acquired  a  love 
19 


290 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


for  these  forms,  and  lie  deems  them  eminently  beauti- 
ful. Now  let  us  imagine  that  a  patron  of  this  painter 
demands  a  picture  of  a  warrior  which  shall  not  be  a 
mediaeval  knight,  nor  a  Koman,  or  Greek,  or  modern 
soldier,  but  purely  an  ideal  invention.  Could  the  art- 
ist invent  the  figure  of  a  warrior  by  merely  trying  to 
sketch  and  paint  one  ?  Certainly  not.  He  could  pro- 
duce nothing  but  Greek,  Roman,  mediaeval,  and  modem 
warriors,  or  imperfect  and  incongruous  combinations 
of  all  of  these.  Is  the  thing  impossible  ?  No,  it  is  not 
impossible ;  but  the  process  demands  a  species  of  skill 
not  possessed  by  the  artist.  In  the  first  place,  a  series 
of  weapons  would  have  to  be  devised  upon  principles 
heretofore  not  applied,  and  then  an  armor  to  resist  these 
weapons.  All  this  may  be  theoretically  done  by  some 
person  versed  in  possible  methods  of  war,  revised  and 
corrected  by  an  able  military  engineer,  practically  exe- 
cuted by  a  skillful  armorer,  and  then  the  painter  could 
paint  a  picture  of  an  ideal  w^aiTior  which  would  rank 
in  beauty  with  pictures  of  the  warriors  of  the  past.  If 
architecture  is  to  be  equally  successful,  the  architect 
must  combine  with  his  art  other  technical  skill  corre- 
sponding to  that  of  the  general,  the  military  engineer, 
and  the  armorer,  and  which  in  his  case  amounts  simply 
to  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  theory  and  practice 
of  mechanical  construction. 

Relations  of  matter  cannot  be  clearly  understood 
nor  successfully  reasoned  upon  unless  they  are  numer- 
ically considered.  To  say  that  the  earth  moves  around 
the  sun,  conveys  an  idea ;  but  it  i^  a  very  confused 
idea,  which  cannot  be  made  positive  until  we  know 
that  it  completes  a  revolution  around  the  sun  in  one 
year,  and  that  the  mean  radius  of  its  orbit  is  ninety- 


FORM  AND  CONSTRUCTIOK  291 


two  millions  of  miles  long.  Now,  when  we  say  that 
this  latter  statement  gives  us  a  positive  idea  of  the 
motion  of  the  earth  in  its  orbit,  it  is  not  meant  to  be 
an  assertion  that  we  can  form  in  onr  minds  a  picture 
of  that  orbit  or  of  the  velocity  of  the  motion  of  the 
earth ;  but  that  we  can  proceed  to  reason  from  these 
data  with  certainty,  and  arrive  at  the  final  conclusion 
that  the  earth  moves  in  its  orbit  around  the  sun  dur- 
ing a  second  of  time  over  a  space  nearly  18.5  miles  in 
length.  It  is  true  that  a  velocity  of  18.5  miles  per 
second  is  as  much  an  enigma  to  the  human  mind 
as  ninety-two  millions  of  miles  measured  out  in  space ; 
but  with  the  help  of  the  figures  presented  to  us  we 
can  proceed  to  reason  from  one  step  to  another  with- 
out fear  of  error ;  in  fact,  with  the  certainty  that  every 
conclusion  arrived  at  will  be  numerically  correct. 

Now  architecture  is  the  art  of  representing  ideas  by 
masses  of  matter.  We  can  gauge  these  masses,  we 
can  mathematically  determine  their  dimensions  under 
certain  conditions  of  work  to  be  performed  by  them, 
and  also  under  certain  conditions  of  apparent  energy 
in  resisting  a  given  load. 

Shall  we  abandon  this  opportunity  to  reason  nu- 
merically ?  If  we  do  so,  we  relinquish  the  only 
method  of  reasoning  which  never  fails,  and  we  must 
drift  into  a  shoreless  sea  of  architectural  aberration. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


PEOPORTIOIT. 

The  relation  of  the  parts  of  a  structure  as  expressed 
in  magnitude  (extension,  mass,)  is  called  tlie  propor- 
tion of  a  monument.  It  means  :  given  a  temple  of  a 
certain  length,  what  is  to  be  its  breadth  and  height, 
and  what  the  respective  dimensions  of  its  columns, 
bases,  capitals,  entablature,  etc.,  in  order  to  respond  to 
the  laws  of  beauty  ?  This  is  the  popular  way  of  stat- 
ing it,  and  there  is  a  decided  infelicity  in  it,  because 
the  laws  of  beauty  are  unwritten  laws ;  they  are  not 
laws  either  demonstrated  or  tested  in  the  same  way 
as  judicial,  scientific,  or  moral  laws,  before  they  are  re- 
cognized as  valid. 

The  process  by  which  these  laws  have  originated  is 
this :  Whenever  it  is  asserted  by  a  leading  architec- 
tural authority  that  a  monument  excels  in  the  quality 
which  is  designated  as  beauty,  it  is  assumed  that  all 
elements  of  beauty  must  be  attributes  of  that  monu- 
ment. Proportion  being  one  of  these  elements,  the 
monument  is  said  to  be  a  model  of  proportion,  and  its 
proportions  are  recommended  for  use  in  other  monu- 
ments erected  in  the  same  style.  Hence  we  have  as 
many  schedules  of  proportion  as  there  are  styles,  and 
all  of  them  are  respected  as  correct.  The  tribunal 
which  determines  that  these  proportions  are  good  is 
292 


PROPORTION, 


293 


the  same  as  that  which  pronounces  upon  the  general 
characteristic  of  beauty — ^it  is  known  as  taste.  Hence 
it  is  that  Renaissance  architects  believe  exclusively  in 
Greek  and  Roman  proportions  as  the  true  standard  of 
proportion  in  architecture.  They  do  not  absolutely 
deny  that  mediaeval  monuments  possess  beauty,  but 
they  deem  it  a  peculiar  beauty  devoid  of  good  pro- 
portions. In  the  same  manner  a  certain  beauty  is 
granted  to  Egyptian  monuments,  though  the  propor- 
tions of  their  structural  elements  are  pronounced  to 
be  curious.  Mediaeval  architects,  again,  prefer  Gothic 
proportions,  but  do  not  deny  antique  beauty. 

The  only  theory  by  which  the  judgment  of  the  lead- 
ing minds  of  the  various  schools  can  be  shown  to  be 
consistent  is,  that  when  beauty  is  spoken  of  they 
mean  expression  as  well.  The  Renaissance  school 
says :  I  admire  the  expression  of  Greek  and  Roman 
monuments ;  I  also  admire  as  beauty  the  mental  effort 
of  those  who  have  successfully  produced  this  special 
expression.  I  cordially  approve  the  relations  of  mat- 
ter, the  proportions  of  parts,  as  I  find  them  in  these 
antique  monuments ;  they  are  to  my  mind  the  exact 
proportions  that  should  be  employed  in  producing  the 
expression  which  I  admire  so  much.  When  I  con- 
template a  mediaeval  monument,  I  am  displeased  with 
its  expression  ;  if,  however,  it  is  the  problem  to  pro- 
duce just  this  sort  of  expression,  which  is  possible, 
though  inconsistent  with  good  taste  (my  taste),  then 
the  problem  has  been  solved  with  success,  and  I  may 
recognize  it  as  an  art  effort  which  results  in  beauty. 
I  do  not  admire  the  proportions  of  matter  employed, 
because  they  do  not  lead  to  an  architectural  expression 
which  is  acceptable  to  me.    Considered  in  this  light 


294 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


there  is  nothing  inconsistent  in  the  argument;  it 
proves  that  one  of  the  conditions  of  the  proportions 
desirable  in  a  monument  must  be  the  ultimate  expres- 
sion aimed  at.  We  are  also  enlightened  upon  another 
point,  viz.  :  That  taste  is  not  a  trustworthy  standard 
applicable  to  the  abstract  consideration  of  the  nature 
of  proportions. 

We  may,  however,  approach  the  subject  of  propor- 
tion from  another  standpoint :  we  can  inquire  into 
the  import  of  proportion  in  the  abstract,  and  into  the 
elements  which  exercise  an  influence  upon  it. 

The  term  proportion,  relating  to  the  masses  of  struc- 
tural parts,  may  be  considered  independently  of  the 
properties  of  strength  and  elegance.  A  structure  may 
be  weak  and  inelegant,  and  yet  may  be  possessed  of 
good  proportions ;  that  is,  it  may  be  consistently,  pro- 
portionately feeble  or  inelegant  throughout.  This 
means  that  no  element  of  the  organism  fully  performs 
its  functions,  and  that  all  the  elements  fall  short  of  do- 
ing so  in  the  same  degree.  Or  the  reverse  may  be  the 
case :  every  element  of  an  organism  may  abundantly 
perform  its  proper  functions ;  and  if  this  abundance  in 
excess  of  the  needful  masses  which  would  be  sufficient 
to  do  the  work  well  is  not  greater  in  one  element  than 
in  another,  then  this  organism  may  be  said  also  to  be 
possessed  of  good  proportions. 

The  function  of  the  architect  in  expressing  an  idea 
in  matter  is  to  determine  the  degree  of  strength  and  ele- 
gance which  should  be  the  attribute  of  a  given  monu- 
ment; therefore,  as  soon  as  the  masses  necessary  to  meet 
the  mechanical  laws  of  construction  are  arrived  at,  he 
may  direct  how  much  stronger  the  whole  or  a  part  of 
a  structure  shall  be  made.    He  may  say  I  will  make 


PROPORTION. 


395 


this  ten,  twenty,  thirty,  fifty  per  cent,  stronger  than 
need  be,  in  order  to  attain  the  expression  of  stability, 
vigor,  or  elegance  which  will  accord  with  the  dignity 
of  the  idea  to  be  expressed.  To  estimate  the  scope  of 
this  process  of  increasing  the  masses  in  order  to  attain 
apparent  stability  corresponding  in  degree  with  the 
nature  of  the  monument,  it  should  be  remembered  that 
a  great  part  of  this  work  is  accomplished  in  the  selec- 
tion of  methods  of  construction,  which  by  their  sim- 
plicity, boldness,  elegance,  or  vigor  convey  the  desired 
expression  before  the  time  when  additions  of  mass  are 
in  order,  and  also  that  in  the  subsequent  process  of 
modelling  of  the  masses  much  more  is  to  be  done  in 
the  same  direction.  The  small  quantity  which  needs 
in  fact  to  be  added  to  the  mass  of  a  structure  to  make 
it  aesthetically  effective,  it  will  be  found,  upon  close  ex- 
amination, must  be  added  pro  rata ;  or,  in  other  Words, 
the  safe  load  which  our  material  is  to  sustain  must  be 
reduced  according  to  a  certain  standard,  and  this  re- 
duction constitutes  the  intended  addition.* 

There  are  no  doubt  cases  where  the  mass  of  isolated 
elements  must  be  exceptionally  increased,  as,  for  in- 
stance, where  in  one  and  the  same  structure  different 
materials  are  employed  which  resist  pressure  or  tension 
unequally,  and  where  this  inequality  of  strength  is  not 
expressed  by  the  texture  and  color  of  the  material  with 
sufficient  emphasis  to  convey  promptly  the  idea  of  su- 


*  This  safe  load  is  a  certain  fractional  part  of  the  load  which  can  be  im- 
posed upon  the  material  within  its  limits  of  elasticity;  and  the  more  we  re- 
duce this  fractional  part,  or  the  more  we  increase  the  divisor  of  this  fraction, 
the  greater  will  be  the  stability  of  the  structure  composed  under  this  rule. 
But  this  law  does  not  tend  to  an  increase  of  matter  in  an  arithmetical  ratio, 
but  in  various  ratios  which  result  from  the  nature  of  strains. 


296 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


perior  resistance  to  force ;  for  instance,  when  in  a 
structure  of  sandstone  or  of  brick,  a  granite  pier  or 
column  is  introduced  whicli  will  sustain  a  load  three 
times  as  great  as  would  be  sustained  by  a  pier  of  sand- 
stone of  the  same  size,  this  granite  pier  or  column 
cannot  be  reduced  absolutely  to  the  sectional  area 
which  would  technically  answer  the  purpose  mthout 
creating  a  discord.  The  fact  that  this  pier  is  of  gran- 
ite and  not  of  sandstone  is  not  perceived  by  the  ob- 
server as  promptly  as  the  other  fact,  that  it  is  small  in 
proportion  to  its  load ;  and  it  becomes  the  function  of 
the  architect  to  compensate  in  mass  for  this  defect  of 
human  perception.  If  the  pier  or  column  is  polished, 
the  nature  of  the  material  becomes  apparent  more 
promptly ;  and  this  in  itself  again  modifies  the  neces- 
sary mass.  Color  also  has  the  effect  of  changing  the 
apparent  resistance  of  matter  to  strain,  and  must  have 
its  due  weight  in  the  variation  of  masses  from  that 
quantity  which  is  directly  determined  by  the  laws  of 
mechanics. 

Upon  the  whole,  however,  it  is  these  laws  alone 
which  must  and  will  ever  determine  the  just  relation 
of  masses,  and  it  is  this  relation  alone  which  constitutes 
proportion  in  architecture  ;  always  taking  into  account 
^  with  the  property  of  strength  that  other  property  of 
elegance,  which  is  its  complement  in  producing  repose, 
viz.,  the  expression  of  a  just  and  perfect  performance 
of  function  in  relation  to  the  idea,  the  ultimate  attain- 
ment of  aesthetical  modelling  of  matter.  To  illustrate 
this  by  an  example,  and  to  show  that  mere  feeling 
(taste)  is  not  a  reliable  guide  to  correct  proportion,  let 
us  imagine  a  wall  with  its  superincumbent  load  of 
floors,  roof,  etc.,  supported  by  a  series  of  piers ;  let  us 


PROPORTION, 


297 


assume  that  a  man  of  taste  has  determined  the  diameter 
of  these  piers  to  be  of  such  magnitude  as  to  express 
the  character  of  the  monument  perfectly,  without  ex- 
amining mathematically  the  relation  of  these  masses. 
They  are  stout  enough  and  not  too  stumpy,  as  he 
would  say.  He  has  prepared  a  drawing  of  this  part 
of  a  structure,  and  has  contemplated  this  drawing  for 
hours.  He  is  now  satisfied  that  it  is  exactly  the  thing 
needed.  This  means  that  he  has  felt  his  way  into  the 
obscurity  of  a  hidden  principle,  with  the  assistance  of 
a  natural  gift,  by  which  he  can  determine  this  thing 
without  being  able  to  explain  it.  That  he  is  quite 
right  there  can  be  no  doubt  in  his  mind.  He  has  not 
only  fully  satisfied  his  own  taste,  but  also  that  of  a 
number  of  professional  friends,  who  have  seen  the 
drawing,  and  have  pronounced  it  to  be  possessed  of 
charming  proportions  and  exquisite  feeling.  More 
than  this,  he  has  called  in  his  builder  and  his 
engineer,  and  they  have  decided  that  these  piers 
are  strong  enough,  abundantly  strong,  to  carry  their 
load. 

These  are  the  precise  conditions  under  which  judg- 
ment is  pronounced  upon  proportions  by  at  least  nine- 
tenths  of  the  profession.  The  thing  looks  well  in  the 
drawing,  and  it  must  be  right.  But  now  for  the  sequel. 
The  structure  is  erected  and  shows  signs  of  weakness. 
There  is  nothing  very  serious — a  slight  crack  in  one  or 
two  of  the  piers,  perhaps  a  local  flaw ;  but  the  archi- 
tect becomes  uneasy,  not  because  he  thinks  the  piers 
insufficient  in  strength,  but  because,  now  that  he  sees 
them  finished,  they  look  weak  to  him.  He  consults 
his  engineer,  who  measures  the  piers  and  their  load  in 
the  structure,  and  pronounces  them  insufficient.  How 


298 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


can  that  be  ?  They  are  built  according  to  the  drawing 
heretofore  examined  by  various  engineering  experts, 
and  pronounced  right.  Now  the  engineer  is  perplexed, 
he  desires  to  see  again  the  drawing,  in  order  to  com- 
pare it  with  his  measurements  taken  at  the  building. 
The  result  of  a  brief  examination  is  that  the  scale 
marked  one  inch  to  the  foot "  should  have  been  "  one- 
half  inch  to  the  foot ; "  and  he  duly  explains  to  the 
architect,  who  in  his  turn  cannot  comprehend  why  a 
thing  twice  as  large  in  every  direction  should  not  ex- 
press precisely  the  same  relation  of  matter,  since  it  cer- 
tainly does  the  same  proportion,  as  proportion  is  un- 
derstood by  the  modern  architect.  When  the  dimen- 
sions of  a  structure  are  throughout  multij^lied  by  two, 
the  loads  become  eight  times  as  great,  and  the  areas  of 
the  supporting  piers  only  four  times  as  great ;  hence 
the  piers  are  in  this  case  only  half  as  strong  in  rela- 
tion to  the  increased  load  as  they  were  before  the  di- 
mensions of  the  structure  had  been  increased.  What 
is  true  of  an  increase  of  one  hundred  per  cent,  of  the 
dimensions  of  a  structure  is  also  true  in  case  of  an  in- 
crease of  any  percentage  less  than  one  hundred.  It 
does  not  follow  that  a  structure  fallaciously  constructed 
in  this  manner  must  immediately  deteriorate  and  show 
signs  of  decay;  but  it  does  follow  that  such  a  me- 
chanical error  leads  at  once  to  an  expression  of  weak- 
ness, which,  of  all  possible  expressions,  is  aesthetically 
fatal  to  an  architectural  monument. 

A  drawing  is  not  a  trustworthy  guide  to  propor- 
tions; its  expression  is  at  best  only  that  of  a  struc- 
ture of  its  exact  size.  Eedraw  it  on  a  larger  or  smaller 
scale,  and  if  your  judgment  of  proportions  (which 
means  your  superficial  estimate  of  masses  without  a 


PROPORTION. 


299 


scientific  inquiry  into  tlie  meclianical  relations)  is 
good,  you  will  feel  a  desire  to  change  the  dimensions 
of  parts  of  tlie  structure  whenever  you  change  the 
scale  of  your  drawing. 

But  this  superficial  judgment  of  proportions  is 
always  erroneous  in  the  degree  in  which  we  deviate 
from  the  scale  in  which  we  are  in  the  habit  of 
drawing  familiar  structures,  repeatedly  tested  by  nu- 
merical examination  of  strains,  lines  of  pressure,  and 
areas  of  resistance.  Yet  many  of  the  schools,  and  even 
academies  of  high  repute,  teach  the  fallacy  that  Greek 
proportions  (multiples  of  diameters)  should  be  applied 
always,  which  means  that  the  relation  of  masses  and 
their  geometrical  ratio  express  always  the  same  degree 
of  strength  and  stability.  Let  A,  and  t  represent  re- 
spectively the  length,  height,  and  thickness  of  a  wall 
mass  to  be  supported  by  a  pier,  the  diameter  of  which  is 
d;  assuming  that  this  pier  is  exactly  sufficient  to  support 
its  superincumbent  load,  we  may  say  that  6?'  is  me- 
chanically proportional  tol  li  t  m  their  relation  of  a 
pier  to  its  load,  6?'  being  in  that  case  the  area  of  that 
pier  if  it  is  a  square  pier ;  or  representing  its  propor- 
tional value  if  it  be  circular  or  of  any  regular  form  what- 
ever which  may  be  inscribed  in  a  circle.  If  we  should 
double  the  dimensions  of  the  mass  to  be  supported,  it 
would  become  S  I  h  t ;  and  if  we  inquire  into  the  di- 
ameter of  the  pier  needed  to  support  the  mass  which 
results  from  doubling  these  dimensions  we  have  I  Ti  t: 
Si  h  t  =  d\'  x""  and  oo  =  dVs ;  which  means  that  the 
diameter  of  the  pier  needed  would  not  be  double  the 
diameter  of  the  first  pier,  but  2  83  times  this  diameter. 
If,  instead  of  increasing  the  dimensions  of  the  mass  to 
be  supported,  we  reduce  them  to  one-half,  then  the 


300 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


diameter  of  the  new  pier  x  =       =  0-35  d,  or  nearly 

one-third  instead  of  one-half  of  the  diameter  of  the 
former  pier.  This  proves  conclusively  that  if  the  di- 
mensions of  masses,  as  found  in  existing  monuments, 
are  increased  pro  rata,  the  suj)ports  become  weak- 
ened ;  and  if  they  are  decreased,  their  dimensions  be- 
come too  great  in  relation  to  their  load. 

Yet  such  a  law  of  proportion,  viz.,  a  constant  geo- 
metrical progression  of  size  of  column  and  entablature, 
has  become  the  fundamental  article  of  faith  with  the 
Renaissance  school;  but  singularly  enough  the  taste 
of  those  who  belong  to  that  school — poor  guide  as  it 
is — revolts  against  it.  They  find  that  on  a  reduced 
scale  their  orders  lose  in  elegance  ;  hence  they  carry 
them  through  two  or  three  stories  of  their  structures 
to  make  them  look  better,  and  thereby  fail  to  express 
the  most  important  characteristic  of  the  organism  they 
are  endeavoring  to  represent  aesthetically. 

The  Greek  temple  is  the  ex2)ression  of  a  simple  idea, 
and  a  single  act  illustrating  it.  Most  modem  struct- 
ures are  the  result  of  a  series  of  related  acts,  or  per- 
haps a  series  of  ideas  of  various  values,  which  must  be 
exhibited  in  order  to  tell  the  story  of  the  monument ; 
and  hence  such  a  structure  cannot  be  clothed  in  the 
simple  drapery  of  antiquity. 

Another  confused  idea  of  proportions,  prevalent 
among  architects  and  laymen,  is  that  spaces,  rooms, 
halls,  naves,  aisles,  etc.,  must,  to  be  beautiful,  be  pos- 
sessed of  certain  proportions  of  length,  breadth,  and 
height.  The  magical  numbers  recommended  for  this 
purpose  vary  with  their  authors,  or,  better  still,  vrith 
the  persons  who  recommend  them ;  the  names  of  the 


PROPORTION. 


301 


original  authors  are  nowhere  recorded,  nor  have  they 
communicated  to  us  any  reason  for  the  prescription. 
It  may  be  stated  as  a  common  law  of  architectural  art 
that  the  proper  proportions  of  a  single  cell  are  any 
dimensions  of  length  and  breadth  which  correspond 
with  the  human  groups  which  are  to  occupy  it  (always 
provided  these -groups  are  artistically  arranged,  which 
means  that  the  groups  themselves  are  expressive  of 
the  functions  they  perform) ;  and  the  height  of  a  single 
cell  is  the  result,  first,  of  the  dignity  of  the  functions 
performed  in  it ;  second,  of  a  sufficient  system  of  light- 
ing of  the  space  enclosed ;  and,  third,  of  the  relation 
of  the  cell  to  other  surrounding  cells.  It  is  self-evi- 
dent that  these  proportions  must  consequently  differ 
in  cases  where  the  elements  which  govern  them  are 
known  to  differ.  It  is  equally  evident  that  the  just, 
ness  of  these  proportions  must  depend  upon  the  rea- 
soning powers  of  the  architect,  upon  his  knowledge  of 
the  uses  and  purposes  to  which  this  cell  is  to  be 
devoted,  upon  his  skill  in  expressing  the  various  ele- 
ments which  constitute  his  rationale  of  the  whole,  so 
as  to  cause  any  moderately  intelligent  observer  to  see- 
or  at  least  to  feel,  his  motives  at  a  glance. 

Take  for  illustration  a  familiar  example :  We  find 
billiard-rooms  which  are  just  large  enough  to  hold 
a  billiard-table,  while  affording  the  necessary  space 
around  it  to  handle  a  cue,  and  no  higher  than  needful 
for  the  same  purpose.  The  dimensions  of  such  a  room 
express  perfectly  the  idea  that  the  owner  desires  to 
combine  exercise  with  recreation,  without  bestowing 
further  thought  on  the  subject ;  without,  in  fact,  deem- 
ing the  matter  worthy  of  any  effort  to  express  a  per- 
sonal love  for  the  game,  or  in  which  an  exalted  idea  of 


302 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


the  way  this  amusement  should  be  proffered  to  Lis 
friends.  Let  us  imagine  now  that  another  person  desires 
a  billiard-room,  which  shall  not  only  be  large  enough 
to  permit  persons  to  move  with  freedom  around  the 
table,  but  also  to  admit  of  a  fireplace — say  in  the  cen- 
ter of  one  of  the  long  sides — sufficiently  removed  from 
the  players  not  to  interfere  with  their  comfort ;  again, 
of  sofas  and  arm-chairs  for  the  accommodation  of  spec- 
tators; also,  at  one  end  of  the  room,  of  a  series  of 
cases  to  hold  a  large  collection  of  cues,  billiard-balls, 
maces ;  perhaps,  also,  some  books  on  the  subject  of 
billiards  and  kindred  games ;  and  at  the  other  end, 
two  or  three  small  tables  for  refreshment,  for  the  use 
of  the  company.    It  is  clear  that  this  room  vnW  have 
entirely  different  proportions  from  the  former,  inas- 
much as  it  is  expressive  of  a  different  conception  of 
the  idea  of  amusement  by  means  of  playing  billiards ; 
and  we  may  conceive  a  series  of  possible  billiard- 
rooms,  which  shall  in  their  appointments  and  expres- 
sion differ  essentially  from  either  of  the  above  models, 
and  which  will  demand,  consequently,  different  pro- 
portions of  length  and  breadth.    Then,  again,  light — 
good  light — is  an  essential  element  in  a  billiard-room. 
If  the  room  can  be  lighted  at  the  two  long  sides,  or  at 
the  two  ends,  or  at  one  long  side,  or  at  one  end  only, 
in  either  case  there  must  be  a  difference  in  the  num- 
ber of  square  feet  of  light  area  needed  to  supply  the 
room  equally  well.    Not  to  crowd  windows  immoder- 
ately— a  thing  proper  in  a  shop,  perhaps,  but  not  in  a 
gentleman's  billiard-room — the  height  of  these  win- 
dows above  the  level  of  the  table  must  be  increased  or 
diminished,  and  must  thus,  in  a  great  measure,  also 
determine  the  height  of  the  room.    Clearly,  therefore. 


PROPORTION. 


303 


even  in  an  apartment  so  commonplace  and  simple  in 
its  idea  and  in  tlie  grouping  of  its  occupants  as  a  bil- 
liard-room, a  number  of  elements  are  to  be  considered, 
which  jointly  determine  its  dimensions,  or,  as  it  is 
called,  its  proportions,  all  of  which  must  be  intelli- 
gently considered  and  aesthetically  expressed,  to  fore- 
stall any  doubt  of  the  proportions  arrived  at  being 
good  proportions.  When  we  come  to  courts  of  Jus- 
tice, halls  of  parliament,  churches,  reception  and  ball 
rooms,  drawing-rooms,  libraries,  etc.,  the  condition 
and  ideas  to  be  developed  become  more  comj^licated, 
and  not  only  must  the  proportions  of  each  of  these 
cells  differ  from  that  of  others,  but  every  special  case 
demands  its  special  proportions. 

Certain  views  of  Mr.  Fergusson  on  this  subject  illus- 
trate forcibly  the  frivolousness  of  modern  art  logic. 
He  says :  "  If  one  hundred  feet  in  length  by  fifty  feet 
in  height  is  a  pleasing  dimension  for  a  certain  design, 
and  it  is  required  that  the  building  should  be  five 
hundred  feet  long,  it  is  only  necessary  to  break  it  into 
five  parts  and  throw  three  back  and  two  forward,  or 
the  contrary,  and  the  proportion  becomes  as  before." 

What  are  we  to  think  of  all  this  ?  What  is  meant 
by  the  pleasing  dimensions  of  a  design  ?  Is  this 
design  an  existing  thing  outside  of,  and  disconnected 
from,  the  structure  which  is  to  be  erected ;  a  thing 
existing  in  the  brain  of  the  author  as  a  beautiful  ob- 
ject which  has  a  being,  before  and  above  the  problem 
to  be  solved ;  a  temple,  perhaps,  to  Jupiter,  or  Venus, 
or  Mars,  completed  and  finished  as  to  its  outer  shell ; 
into  which  shell  is  to  be  crowded  a  hospital  or  a  war 
department  which  has  the  merit  of  being  fifty  feet 
high,  but  the  misfortune  of  being  five  hundred  feet  long  ? 


304  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


The  author  of  the  "  History  of  Architecture  "  seems 
to  have  turned  this  matter  over  in  his  mind  somewhat 
in  this  wise :  A  hundred  by  fifty  is  a  good  proportion 
for  a  design  which  fills  my  imagination  and  fully  sat- 
isfies my  taste.  My  taste  in  architecture  is  a  court  of 
last  resort ;  I  must  do  one  of  two  things  or  fail.  I 
must  either  make  this  structure  one  hundred  feet  long 
and  fifty  feet  high,  or  five  hundred  feet  long  and  two 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  high.  But  neither  of  these  pro- 
portions ^vill  satisfy  the  war  department  or  the  commis- 
sioners of  the  poor,  yet  I  cannot  sacrifice  art  to  human 
perversity.  I  will  design  five  structures  joined  to- 
gether, each  of  which  shall  be  a  hundred  feet  long  and 
fifty  feet  high ;  and  in  order  that  their  separate  exist- 
ence shall  be  recognized,  I  will  project  three  of  them 
beyond  a  certain  line,  and  withdraw  two  behind  that 
line ;  or  I  will  project  two  and  withdraw  three ;  either 
will  answer  this  aesthetic  purpose,  and  taste  will  tri- 
umph over  matter. 

It  seems  from  this  that  the  nature  of  the  structure, 
its  inherent  cellular  organization,  the  idea  or  ideas 
which  have  called  it  into  being,  have  nothing  at  all  to 
do  with  this  matter  of  proportion,  in  the  face  of  the 
magic  numbers  of  fifty  by  a  hundred,  which  are  firmly 
established  by  human  taste.  What  right  has  the  war 
department  to  spread  out  five  hundred  feet  in  length, 
if  it  cannot  atford  to  rise  to  two  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  in  height  at  the  same  time  ?  "What  claims  upon 
art  has  a  structure  so  inordinately  long  ? 

Some  perverse  architect,  who  has  not  the  fear  of 
taste  before  him,  might  irreverently  suggest  that  the 
very  length  of  the  structure  being  an  organic  require- 
ment, would  form  a  marked  feature  which  art  should 


PROPORTION. 


305 


utilize  to  explain  the  ideas  wliicli  called  the  structure 
into  being,  and  thus  give  to  it  expression,  which,  after 
all,  is  the  sole  object  of  art  work.  Perhaps  the  interior 
organism  might  be  appealed  to,  to  suggest  a  grouping 
of  its  parts  more  nearly  true  in  art  than  five  times  one 
hundred,  or  that  a  repetition  of  five  cubes  of  equal  size 
does  not  present  the  promise  of  a  harmonious  chord, 
but  rather  that  of  a  monotonous  noise.  But  all  this 
would  be  pronounced  to  be  a  want  of  feeling  in  art. 

In  truth,  a  structure  five  hundred  feet  in  length, 
composed  of  the  same  elements,  may  not  prove  a  mon- 
ument of  poetical  expression ;  but  the  reason  of  this  is 
not  to  be  sought  in  a  defect  of  proportion,  but  in  the 
lack  of  intelligence  in  its  author,  which  prevented  him 
from  discovering  a  just  method  of  grouping  in  har- 
mony with  the  various  elements  of  thought  or  phases 
of  idea  contained  in  the  monument,  for  which  no  arbi- 
trary division  can  compensate. 

Architecture  is  not  the  offspring  of  a  heated  brain, 
a  jumble  of  forms,  or  an  aggregation  of  conceits  ;  it  is 
a  human  creation  in  imitation  of  nature,  which  means 
under  the  government  of  natural  laws.  These  alone 
can.  determine  form,  and  forms  must  grow  under  the 
hand  of  the  architect  in  obedience  to  them. 

If  these  forms  respond  to  their  environments  they 
will  be  endowed  with  due  proportions,  always  provided 
nature's  methods  of  creation  are  recognized  as  superior 
to  human  prejudice  and  conceit. 

It  is  the  opinion  of  many  writers  On  architecture 
that  effects  of  magnitude,  depth,  and  perspective,  as  we 
find  them  in  the  mediaeval  cathedrals,  are  the  result  of 
premeditated  effort — a  sort  of  artistic  trick  to  make  the 
most  of  space  and  mass^  or  to  give  an  exaggerated  im- 

20 


306  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


pression  of  the  magnitude  of  these  monuments.  This 
is  an  error :  the  men  of  the  Middle  Ages  were  much 
too  seriously  employed  to  seek  after  startling  effects. 
Their  structural  elements  were  entirely  the  result  of 
their  constructional  methods ;  they  aimed  at  the  per- 
fection of  the  mechanical  relations  of  parts,  and  a  full, 
honest,  and  clear  aesthetic  presentation  of  all  important 
organic  elements,  so  as  to  make  them  speak  forcibly  to 
the  mind  of  every  man.  Whenever  in  an  organism  the 
parts  are  strongly  accentuated,  the  magnitude  of  the 
whole  becomes  apparent.  When  we  see  an  unshapely 
rock,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  form  an  opinion  of  its  size, 
which  a  house,  or  a  tree,  or  a  man  in  its  neighborhood 
will  help  us  to  understand.  A  series  of  familiar  ob- 
jects distributed  at  different  heights  will  make  our 
vision  and  judgment  still  more  clear.  Gothic  archi- 
tecture offers  this  opportunity  for  the  comprehension 
of  the  magnitude  of  its  monuments  by  a  ready  com- 
parison of  its  structural  parts,  which  are  not  too  large 
nor  too  small  for  their  individual  functions ;  hence  the 
relation  of  their  masses  to  the  mass  of  the  monument 
as  a  whole  tends  to  convey  a  correct  idea  of  its  magni- 
tude. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


TREATMENT    OF  MASSES.  SYMMETRY. 

ORaANiSMS  in  nature  arrange  themselves  around  an 
axis,  or  around  a  central  point.  Natural  crystals  or  fib- 
rous substances  are  almost  always  symmetrical,  and  yet 
again  never  fully  so.  Organisms  of  the  same  species 
agree  in  form,  so  as  to  be  recognized  as  members  of  a 
certain  family,  yet  they  differ  enough  to  assert  a  dis- 
tinct individuality.  This  is  undoubtedly  owing  to  en- 
vironment. Forms  in  architectural  art  are  expressions 
of  ideas  in  matter,  which  ideas  form  classes,  and  are 
possessed  of  individuality ;  therefore,  to  be  successfully 
represented,  these  forms  must  be  determined  by  en- 
vironment. By  this  it  is  meant  that  irregularity  of 
form  in  a  structure  is  not  in  accordance  with  the  law 
of  imitation  unless  it  is  determined  by  environment; 
nor  is  it  desirable  that  minute  characteristics  should 
be  unnecessarily  emphasized.  Otherwise  it  must  be 
clear  that  absolute  symmetry  cannot  well  extend  be- 
yond the  single  cell,  as  no  two  ideas  or  two  acts  illus- 
trating the  same  idea  are  precisely  the  same.  The 
transept  and  aisles  of  a  cathedral  are  extensions  of 
the  nave,  and,  although  separate  cells,  they  are  ex- 
pressive of  the  same  idea ;  hence  they  are  symmetrical 
Two  chapter-houses,  one  on  each  side  of  a  cathedral, 
would  be  an  incongruity. 
307 


308 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


Not  even  isolated  structural  parts  can  be  sym- 
metrical if  their  functions  are  not  the  same  in  every 
direction,  as,  for  instance,  a  pier  at  the  transept.  If 
two  axial  lines  are  drawn  through  this  pier  at  right 
angles  with  each  other,  so  that  one  of  these  lines 
runs  parallel  with  the  axis  of  the  transept,  and  the 
other  with  that  of  the  nave,  which  by  their  length 
represent  the  value  of  the  transverse  area  needed  to 
resist  perpendicular  pressure,  it  will  be  found  that 
these  lines  will  be  greater  when  measured  from  the 
point  of  intersection  toward  the  axes  of  the  nave  and 
transept  than  those  running  parallel  with  these  axes. 
An  examination  will  show  that  these  piers  are  fre- 
quently constructed  upon  this  principle,  and  so  is  a  hu- 
man leg  or  arm.  A  good  deal  of  talk  has  been  wasted 
on  the  symmetry  of  the  human  body,  to  prove  that  the 
symmetry  of  nature  in  this  case  should  be  imitated  in 
architectural  monuments,  without  regard  to  the  ideas 
and  functions  of  its  single  cells.  It  has  been  said  that 
the  human  viscera  are  not  symmetrical,  and  hence  that 
the  interior  of  a  structure  may  consist  of  cells  with 
functions  unlike  in  purpose,  character,  and  importance, 
and  yet  that  these  should  be  expressed  symmetrically 
in  the  exterior.  The  human  body  is  but  a  single 
functional  organism,  not  a  series  of  such  organisms 
expressing  different  ideas.  The  parts  of  the  human 
body  which  are  structural,  like  the  arm  and  leg,  are 
necessarily  symmetrical ;  their  functions  are  the  same, 
unless  otherwise  determined  by  environment.  Our  legs 
must  be  of  equal  length  and  equal  structure  and  capac- 
ity to  do  their  work.  The  arms  of  the  artisan  are  un- 
equally developed  if  his  special  work  demands  greater 
exertion  in  one  arm  than  in  the  other. 


TREATMENT  OF  MASSES. 


309 


Tlie  most  potent  argument  against  tlie  tyranny  of 
symmetry  may  be  found  in  architecture  itself,  wliere 
tlie  lower  part  of  a  structure  is  so  treated  as  to  express 
greater  strength  tlian  the  upper  portions.  All  schools 
of  architecture  admit  the  propriety  of  this  for  the 
very  good  reason  that  the  function  of  sustaining  a 
greater  or  lesser  load  should  be  expressed.  Whenever 
any  part  of  a  structure  performs  more  work  or  differ- 
ent work  than  another,  this  must  be  expressed,  whether 
or  not  a  similar  function  is  performed  by  any  other 
part  of  the  same  structure. 

STABILITY  AND  MASS. 

An  architectural  monument  is  the  expression  of  an 
idea  in  matter,  to  the  end  that  the  idea  may  endure 
and  be  conveyed  to  future  generations.  It  follows, 
therefore,  that  stability  is  one  of  the  principal  qualities 
of  a  monument.  If  a  monument  is  so  constructed  as 
to  ie  stable,  it  will  doubtless  also  present  the  appear- 
ance of  stability.  Stability,  therefore,  is  not  merely  a 
question  of  mass,  but  also  and  mainly  a  question  of 
mode  of  construction.  This  is  forcibly  illustrated  by 
comparing  the  masses  of,  say  St.  Ouen,  at  Rouen, 
with  those'  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  The  former 
contains  some  47,000  square  feet  of  area  on  the  ground 
floor,  4,600  feet  of  which,  or  nearly  one-tenth  of  that 
area,  is  occupied  by  the  walls  and  piers  of  that  struc- 
ture; while  the  latter,  mth  227,000  square  feet  of  area, 
has  walls  and  piers  containing  59,000  square  feet,  or 
something  more  than  one  quarter  of  the  space  cov- 
ered by  it  on  the  ground  plan,  which  shows  a  relation 
of  masses  as  five  to  two.    But  if  we  remember  that 


310  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


the  surrounding  walls  of  rectangular  structures  increase 
not  as  the  areas,  but  as  the  root  of  the  areas,  it  will 
appear  that  the  mass  of  St.  Peter's  (the  material  con- 
sumed in  that  structure)  is  to  the  mass  of  St.  Ouen,  at 
Eouen,  very  nearly  as  three  to  one,  and  yet  the  latter 
has  the  appearance  of  the  greater  stability.  This  dif- 
ference is  owing,  first,  to  superior  construction,  and 
next  to  a  better  architectural  expression  of  the  masses. 

MATERIAL. 

The  most  important  consideration  which  presents 
itself  in  relation  to  material  as  an  element  in  art  work 
is,  that  it  should  be  worked,  formed,  modelled,  in  ac- 
cordance with  its  nature.  This  is  not  a  mere  econom- 
ical consideration,  but  one  which  pertains  in  art  to  the 
law  of  imitation  of  nature.  Stone  and  brick  act  in  a 
structure  by  reason  of  gravity  only,  in  contradistinc- 
tion to  wood  and  iron,  which  are  used  also  to  resist 
tension.  In  a  frame  of  wood  or  iron,  the  perpendicu- 
lar members  of  a  truss  are  not  expected  to  retain  their 
position  against  the  action  of  the  various  forces  at 
work  through  gravity ;  but  they  are  kept  in  position 
by  special  ties  and  struts  which  counteract  these  forces. 
Hence  it  is  that  in  stone  and  brick  construction,  the 
solicitude  of  the  architect  is  directed  to  the  bond  of 
the  stone  or  brickwork.  A  good  bond  is  effected  by 
resting  each  stone  upon  two  stones  immediately  under 
it,  and  each  brick  upon  two  bricks  immediately  under 
it ;  a  process  which  is  technically  termed  a  change  of 
bond.  Now  in  a  piece  of  masonry  this  change  of  bond 
must  be  expressed  on  the  outside,  and  not  concealed, 
as  is  frequently  done.   It  must  pervade  the  whole 


TREATMENT  OF  MASSES, 


311 


structure,  and  must  traverse  tlie  projecting  members 
to  show  distinctly  that  tlie  idea  of  a  bonded  wall  lias 
ne.ver  for  a  moment  been  lost  sight  of;  and  more  es- 
pecially that  no  attempt  has  been  made,  by  concealing 
the  joints,  to  have  the  material  appear  larger  than  it  is  in 
reality ;  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  there  is  a  pecu- 
liar aesthetic  result  derived  from  the  use  of  large,  and  an- 
other from  small  material.  The  magnitude  of  the  mate- 
rial is  an  environment  to  be  considered  and  expressed. 
On  the  other  hand,  when  the  nature  of  the  material  de- 
mands the  fastening  of  the  parts  by  bolts  and  ties,  as  in 
iron  and  wood,  it  becomes  necessary  for  each  of  these 
fastenings  to  be  not  only  plainly  visible,  but  architec- 
turally emphasized ;  the  modelling  must  command  atten- 
tion, in  order  that  the  abundant  stability  of  the  organ- 
isms may  become  apparent.  No  material  should  be  so 
moulded  as  to  impair  its  appearance  of  stability,  or  to 
make  it  necessary  to  use  extraordinary  tools,  or  exces- 
sive labor  to  work  out  the  design ;  for,  indeed,  the 
object  of  all  modelling  and  decoration  is,  and  must  al- 
ways be,  to  heighten  the  apparent  resistance  of  the 
member  to  the  strain  imposed,  and  not  to  weaken  it ; 
also,  to  do  all  this  in  accordance  with  the  .true  nature 
of  the  material.  If  a  stone  forming  a  breastwork 
needs  to  be  perforated,  in  order  to  give  to  it  the  light- 
ness or  elegance  demanded  by  the  function,  this  may 
be  done,  as  long  as  it  can  be  conveniently  accomplished 
with  the  ordinary  tools  of  the  stone-cutter,  and  with 
an  ordinary  effort  of  labor,  from  either  or  both  sides 
of  the  material ;  but  it  cannot  possibly  add  to  the  ex- 
pression of  a  monument  to  set  up  a  series  of  turned 
stone  balusters  and  unite  them  with  dowels  to  a  cop- 
ing, or  to  use  attenuated  material  in  a  series  of  columns 


312 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


and  arches  for  the  same  purpose.  In  fine,  whatever 
cannot  be  accomplished  by  perforating  the  material 
from  the  face,  leaving  it  otherwise  in  large  pieces  prop- 
erly bonded,  should  be  omitted  as  not  in  imitation  of 
nature.  The  character  of  a  well-bonded  wall  must 
never  be  lost  sight  of.  It  is  recommended  that  the 
material  used  in  monuments  shall  be  large,  mainly  be- 
cause we  find  exceeding  large  stones  in  Egyptian  and 
antique  monuments.  There  is,  no  doubt,  a  certain 
dignity  in  large  monoliths ;  and  in  the  case  of  columns 
upon  which  a  great  weight  is  concentrated,  mono- 
liths should  be  used  if  possible.  The  construction  is 
thereby  actually  improved,  and  the  apparent  stability 
enhanced;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  modern  monuments 
are  of  necessity  so  highly  organized  that  no  room  is 
left  for  very  large  material.  The  fact  that  great  mon- 
oliths produce  a  favorable  impression  in  obelisks,  pyra- 
mids, and  temples,  is  owing  to  the  nature  of  those 
monuments.  They  are  primitive  expressions  of  simple 
ideas,  and  their  magnitude,  and  the  magnitude  of  the 
material  of  which  they  are  composed,  are  either  one  of 
Si  very  few  methods,  or  often  the  only  method,  of  expres- 
sion. The  tower  of  Babel  was  intended  to  be  big,  and 
nothing  more — a  gigantic  landmark,  a  huge  finger-post. 
No  doubt  it  was  built  of  large  material.  The  absence 
of  mortar  in  Cyclopean  work  also  made  large  material 
desirable.  Modern  resources  of  architectural  expression 
permit  us  not  only  to  dispense  with  this  childish  means 
of  conveying  an  idea  of  magnitude  and  endurance,  but 
they  also  so  modify  the  arrangement  and  construction 
of  our  monuments,  that  there  is  no  room  left  for  this 
ispecies  of  luxury. 

Eich  marbles  and  other  rare  and  valuable  stones 


TREATMENT  OF  MASSES.  313 

possess  in  their  color  and  texture  very  acceptable 
means  of  composition  in  color,  a  sort  of  architec- 
tural mosaic  which  is  very  desirable,  provided  it 
amounts  to  a  system  that  corresponds  with  the  con- 
struction and  heightens  its  effects.  The  reverse  is 
often  the  case  in  many  mediaeval  monuments,  wherein 
odd  and  ill-assorted  columns  of  undesirable  form  and 
of  heterofreneous  color  are  collected  in  the  same  struct- 
ure,  perhaps  from  motives  of  respect  for  this  rare 
material,  and  perhaps  from  motives  of  economy  be- 
cause of  the  opportunity  to  procure  it  readily.  They 
impart  to  these  monuments  very  much  the  appearance 
of  bric-a-brac  museums,  the  character  of  the  structures 
as  monuments  being  belittled  thereby. 

We  find,  mainly  in  Northern  Italian  work,  a  prac- 
tice of  lining  brickwork  with  marble  slabs.  Mr. 
Ruskin  speaks  of  it  with  approval.  He  says:  "These 
Italians  did  not  pretend  that  these  piers  were  built 
of  precious  marbles,  but  avowed  the  fact  that  they 
are  merely  an  external  lining,  plainly  exhibiting  the 
iron  bolts  and  hooks  with  which  this  lining  is  fas- 
tened to  the  brickwork."  If  it  becomes  desirable 
in  a  monument  that  brickwork  should  be  lined  with 
marble  in  the  form  of  slabs  (a  method  of  construc- 
tion which  cannot  be  pronounced  monumental  in  char- 
acter, but  which  in  special  cases  may  be  tolerated), 
it  seems  necessary  that  portions  of  the  brickwork 
should  find  expression  somewhere  and  as  often  as 
sound  construction  demands  it,  for  the  purpose  of 
tying  in  and  bonding  the  slabs  inserted  with  the  main 
structure.  This  would  be  a  constructive  method  of 
using  thin  slabs  for  a  facing  of  inferior  work ;  it  would 
amount  to  an  artistic  avowal  of  the  process,  and  could, 


314  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 

no  doubt,  by  judicious  treatment,  be  made  a  work  of 
fine  art.  But  to  bolt  or  nail  large  marble  slabs  upon 
parts  of  a  structure  of  rude  brick,  cannot  possibly  pass 
for  architecture. 

The  great  vice,  however,  of  this  century  is  in  the 
effort  to  make  inferior  material  answer  for  superior 
material  by  way  of  base  imitation.  It  can  hardly  be 
necessary  to  speak  of  this  here,  more  especially  as  in 
England,  at  least,  the  fallacy  of  this  attempt  at  show 
has  been  almost  universally  recognized  as  unworthy  of 
honest  men. 

A  mania  for  iron  buildings,  which  is  now  happily 
dying  out  everywhere,  was  merely  an  attempt  at  a 
spurious  cast-iron  imitation  of  modelled  and  carved 
marble,  granite,  or  sandstone.  Iron,  when  used  as  a  * 
legitimate  building  material  for  exterior  walls,  if  prop- 
erly put  together  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of  the 
metal,  and  so  constructed  as  to  afford  protection  from 
the  weather  equally  well  with  stone  or  brick,  and 
architecturally  treated  by  exhibiting  the  leading  con- 
nections, at  least  sufficiently  to  convey  the  idea  of 
stability,  and  properly  modelled  and  decorated,  does 
not  favorably  compare  in  cost  with  either  stone  or 
brick.  It  would  take  a  long  time,  also,  before  a  re- 
spectable iron  architecture  could  be  developed  ;  but  as 
a  cheap  display  is  its  sole  object,  and  it  has  been  dem- 
onstrated that  there  is  no  economy  in  it,  it  has  been 
wisely  abandoned.  The  legitimate  and  economical  ap- 
plication of  iron  in  architecture  is  to  be  found  in  the 
use  of  rolled  iron  as  a  substitute  for  wood  in  many 
constructions,  such  as  roofs  and  floors.  But  all  this 
is  outside  of  the  subject  under  consideration. 

England  and  Germany  have  produced  of  late  years 


TREATMENT  OF  MASSES. 


315 


many  successful  efforts  at  brick  construction ;  but  it 
may  be  fairly  questioned  whether  great  results  can  be 
attained  in  tjiis  direction  unless  all  so-called  terra-cotta 
imitations  of  moulded  stone  are  abandoned.  It  seems 
necessary  that  in  the  artistic  treatment  of  brick  archi- 
tecture we  must  insist  upon  the  use  of  brick  alone,  large 
brick  or  small,  thick  or  thin,  plain  or  decorated  on  the 
face  (each  brick  by  itself),  but  a  brick  it  must  be — 
always  a  material  which  can  be  bonded  without  arti- 
ficial means,  and  laid  up  in  the  wall  with  such  projec- 
tions only  as  are  compatible  with  the  dimensions  of 
the  material  itself.  What  has  been  said  with  refer- 
ence to  the  use  of  marble  slabs  as  a  facing  of  brick- 
work is  also  applicable  to  the  use  of  terra-cotta 
panels  baked  in  the  form  of  slabs,  and  to  the  excep- 
tional use  of  the  tile.  A  real  visible  bond  should  be 
effected,  and  the  thin  lining  be  visibly  incorporated 
with  the  wall. 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

CARVED  ORISTAMENT  AOT)  COLOE  DECORATIOIT. 

Architects,  art  critics,  and  writers  on  aesthetics, 
differ  greatly  as  to  the  extent  to  which  the  science  of 
construction  enters  into  the  consideration  of  architect- 
ure as  an  art ;  but  all  agree  that  carved  ornament  and 
color  decoration  are  elements  in  architecture.  Mr. 
Euskin  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  architecture  is  deco- 
ration and  sculpture,  and  nothing  else  ;  and  he  entreats 
architects  to  study  sculpture  and  painting  that  they 
may  become  architects.  If  it  w^ere  true  that  archi- 
tecture is  nothing  but  sculpture  and  painting,  then  Mr. 
Eusldn  would  certainly  be  right ;  but  if  architecture 
is  the  art  of  expressing  an  idea  in  a  monument,  then 
the  architect  must  acquire  a  vast  amount  of  knowledge 
and  technical  skill,  which  is  in  itself  quite  sufficient  to 
consume  an  ordinary  life-time,  and  precludes  the  possi- 
bility of  sufficient  leisure  to  make  himself  a  master  of 
sculpture,  which  is  also  a  life  problem.  An  architect 
must,  however,  understand  the  theory  of  carved  and 
color  decoration,  for  the  very  good  reason  that  they 
are  elements  of  expression  intended  to  heighten  the 
effects  of  construction,  which  alone  determines  form ; 
or,  in  other  words,  they  constitute  color  and  texture, 
which,  added  to  form,  can  do  more  to  express  function 
than  form  alone  can  do.  It  seems  clear,  therefore, 
316 


ORNAMENT  AND  COLOR  DECORATION.  317 


that  carved-ornament  and  color  decoration,  to  effect 
tlie  object  intended,  must  be  designed  by  the  author 
of  the  monument,  the  architect. 

It  is  very  singular  that  professional  practice  herein 
greatly  differs  from  professional  profession.  There  are 
but  few  architects  who  entirely  depute  construction  to 
others,  but  there  are  not  many  who  design  their  own 
carved  ornament,  and  only  isolated  practitioners  who 
design  their  own  color  decoration.  Generally  all  this 
work  is  done  by  independent  artists  nominally  subject 
to  the  supervision  of  the  architect.  Practically,  how- 
ever, this  supervision  is  only  extended  over  the  model- 
ling of  the  carved  ornament  in  the  questionable  form  of 
a  veto  power — a  power  to  reject  what  is  not  in  accord 
with  architectural  taste,  and  not  a  power  which  assumes 
the  initiative  by  directing  through  specific  drawings 
exactly  what  is  to  be  carved  in  certain  places. 

There  is  to  be  found  in  every  hand-book  of  archi- 
tecture a  discussion  on  carved  ornament  and  color  dec- 
oration, which  generally  concerns  itself  with  these 
questions  :  How  much  carved  ornament  may  we  use 
in  a  building  ?  and,  is  it  well  to  decorate  the  outside 
of  structures  in  color  ?  These  questions  are  answered 
very  ingeniously  by  one  eminent  writer,  who  says,  you 
cannot  have  too  much  ornament  as  long  as  the  orna- 
ment you  propose  is  really  ornament ;  and  by  another 
that  the  Greeks  undoubtedly  painted  their  temples 
on  the  outside  (which  it  would  be  architectural  sin 
to  disapprove),  but  that  it  is  very  doubtful  whether 
they  would  have  done  so  had  they  built  them  in  Eng- 
land where  the  atmosphere  is  not  clear.  Whether  this 
is  good  logic  or  not,  it  mil  not  help  us  to  a  clear  un- 
derstanding of  the  function  of  carved  ornament  and 


318 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


color  decoration  in  architecture,  and  we  must  sliare  tlie 
misgivings  of  some,  that  it  is  not  good  logic. 

The  result  of  a  mathematical  consideration  of  the 
relations  of  matter  in  an  architectural  organism  is  a 
determination  of  the  dimensions  of  parts  and  of  their 
configuration.  This  is  essentially /brm.  The  study  of 
a  series  of  geometrical  drawings  of  these  forms,  and  a 
mechanical  analysis  of  the  same,  answers  the  impor- 
tant question,  whether  or  not  these  forms  are  adequate 
to  express  the  needed  degree  of  strength  and  elegance 
which  are  demanded  by  the  ideas  to  be  architecturally 
expressed  in  matter.  Architecture,  however,  requii^es 
that  the  monument  shall  speak  to  those  who  are  not 
capable  of  analyzing  mechanical  relations  ;  and,  more 
than  this,  the  effect  aimed  at  is  one  which  must  act 
with  greater  promptness  than  a  process  of  analysis 
would  permit.  We,  therefore,  resort  to  all  available 
means  to  give  expression  to  the  matter  composing 
monuments.  Now  the  structural  form  of  the  material 
used  serves  this  purpose  admirably ;  and  it  becomes  the 
aim  of  art  to  modify  this  structural  form  in  obedience 
to  this  one  great  principle,  that  the  more  energetic 
the  apparent  or  real  crystallization  of  the  material  the 
more  competent  it  seems  to  perform  mechanical  work. 
It  will  be  seen  hereafter  that  this  principle  also  covers 
the  nature  and  function  of  color  decoration. 

A  rough  quarry  face,  as  well  as  a  polished  surface  of 
many  sorts  of  stone,  reveals  a  vigorous  crystallization, 
and  heightens  the  color,  and  thus  indirectly  the  ap- 
parent capability  of  the  material  to  do  mechanical 
work.  The  experiment  may  be  tried  with  a  series  of 
cubes  of  one  and  the  same  stone,  and  of  equal  dimen- 
sions, which  may  be  made  to  range  from  a  rough 


ORNAMENT  AND  COLOR  DECORATION  319 


quarry  face  to  a  finely  tooled  surface,  and  it  will  be 
found  that  the  rougher  the  surface  the  greater  the 
seeming  rigidity  of  the  material.  For  this  no  mechan- 
ical reason  can  be  assigned.  A  block  of  stone  offers  a 
resistance  to  a  load  pressing  upon  it  perpendicularly 
exactly  proportional  to  the  area  of  its  smallest  hori- 
zontal section.  No  projections  on  its  face  beyond  the 
lines  constituting  these  limits  can  help  this  stone  in 
the  labor  of  resisting  pressure  ;  yet  the  stone  seems 
stronger  than  another  stone  which  is  dressed  down  to 
an  even  surface  at  the  line  which  is  the  boundary  of 
its  horizontal  area.  The  reason  why  the  rough  stone 
looks  stronger  than  the  smooth  one  is  because  it  betrays 
the  nature  of  its  crystallization,  of  which  we  know 
from  practical  experience  that  it  serves  to  resist  great 
pressure;  while  in  stone  which  has  been  carefully 
tooled  or  rubbed  to  a  smooth  surface  the  natural  grain 
is  obliterated,  and  an  artificial  grain  substituted,  which 
resembles  the  grain  of  other  matter  (not  stone),  which 
matter  we  know  to  resist  pressure  but  indifferently, 
unless  the  stone  is  further  polished,  and  in  this 
way  again  made  to  betray  its  crystallization.  White 
marbles  and  other  stones  which  are  capable  of  being 
polished,  but  which,  in  that  case,  do  not  betray  crystal- 
lization, do  not  look  stronger  when  polished,  but  do 
look  stronger  the  rougher  their  surface. 

Parts  of  structure  differ  in  the  method  and  degree  of 
their  resistance  to  pressure  imposed  upon  them.  The 
distribution  of  the  load  also  differs.  At  times  it  is  spread 
equally  over  a  large  area,  and  then  again  it  is  concen- 
trated upon  a  smaller  area.  An  architect  who  is  in 
the  habit  of  contemplating  structural  parts  as  doing 
mechanical  work  can  readily  re-enforce  the  expression 


320 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


of  his  material  by  the  texture  imparted  to  it  by  dress- 
ing the  surface  of  the  stone  of  which  the  parts  are  com- 
posed. 

Carved  ornament  in  architecture  means  the  decora- 
tion of  surfaces  of  stone,  metal,  or  wood,  with  designs 
taken  from  the  animal  and  vegetable  productions  of 
nature,  or  with  geometrical  forms,  composed  of  straight 
and  curved  lines,  especially  applied  for  this  puqDose, 
or  with  a  combination  of  both. 

The  object  of  decorating  the  surfaces  of  building 
material  is  again,  as  in  the  case  of  dressing  the  surface 
of  stone,  to  give  artificial  texture  to  it,  whicl\  shall  re- 
enforce  its  apparent  capability  to  resist  pressure.  Small 
ornamentation,  closely  packed,  with  shallow  intervals  of 
limited  area,  corresponds  with  the  fine-tooled  stone,  and 
large  decorative  ornament  with  deeply  cut  and  broad 
recesses,  with  the  quarry-faced  stone.  Corbels  and 
capitals  which  carry  great  loads  concentrated  upon 
them  are  of  the  latter  kind.  An  evenly  and  slightly 
loaded  wall  face  determines  the  former.  It  is  unnec- 
essary to  dwell  upon  the  endless  variety  which  may 
be  designed  to  range  between  the  two ;  but  it  is  im- 
portant to  point  out  that  a  monument  may  be  entirely 
covered  with  decorative  ornament  so  long  as  the  inten- 
sity of  the  ornament  keeps  step  with  its  mechanical 
function,  and  that  a  monument  so  treated  will  thereby 
gain  in  force  of  expression.  The  interior  of  the  Alham- 
bra  may  be  cited  as  an  illustration  of  this.  It  appears 
also  from  the  foregoing  that  decorative  ornament  is  not 
introduced  to  gratify  a  mere  craving  for  variety,  although 
the  variety  which  results  from  a  judicious  treatment 
of  it  is  the  first  as  well  as  the  most  striking  plienome- 
non  noticed  by  the  superficial  observer.    When  con- 


ORNAMENT  AND  COLOR  DECORATION  321 


siderecl  in  the  light  of  the  principle  here  stated,  and 
when  the  resulting  system  is  pursued,  it  becomes  ob- 
vious that  variety  must  be  the  inevitable  result,  and 
that  variety  so  attained  also  determines  that  harmony 
and  unity  of  expression  which  is  dictated  by  the  me- 
chanical laws  which  have  ordered  the  masses.  But  if 
mere  variety  is  attempted  as  a  stroke  of  genius,  as  a 
work  of  the  imagination,  it  is  clear  that  it  must  lack 
both  meaning  and  harmony,  and  become  worthless  as 
a  work  of  art. 

Carved  ornament  being  intended  to  decorate  a  struct- 
ural mass  with  the  view  of  accentuating  its  function, 
the  mass  itself  must  not  be  entirely  absorbed  or  cov- 
ered up  by  the  ornament,  but  must  be  clearly  percep- 
tible, and  express  in  its  form  also  the  function  per- 
formed by  it.  If  the  material  used  is  stone,  it  must 
be  a  bonded  stone  first,  and  next  a  decorated  bonded 
stone,  well  fitted  for  its  relation  with  the  rest  of  the 
structure,  and  for  the  mechanical  work  to  be  done  by 
it.  The  bell  of  the  capital  and  of  the  corbel  will  serve 
as  an  illustration  of  this.  To  erect  a  leaf  or  an  animal 
form,  whether  it  be  conventionalized  or  not,  and  use 
this  leaf,  animal,  or  human  form  as  a  structural  part,  or, 
what  is  still  worse,  for  the  mere  purpose  of  a  conven- 
ient transition  from  one  part  of  structure  to  another,  is 
contrary  to  the  nature  of  art-work.  Caryatides  may 
serve  as  an  example  of  the  former,  and  the  arabesques 
of  the  Rococo  of  the  latter  transgression  against  art. 

The  solicitude  to  preserve  intact  and  clearly  percep- 
tible all  structural  masses  dictates  the  law  also  by 
which  statuary  is  placed  outside  of  the  masses  of  archi- 
tectural monuments,  and  according  to  which  the  taber- 
nacles, pedestals,  and  canopies  which  form  the  surround- 

21 


322 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


ings  of  statues,  are  not  carved  into  these  masses,  but 
projected  from  the  same.  It  is  also  for  this  reason  nec- 
essary that  statuary  should  be  placed  upon  pedestals, 
corbels,  or  other  supports,  especially  built  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  should  not  rest  upon  structural  parts  other- 
wise performing  mechanical  functions.  Bas-reliefs  serve 
the  purpose  of  wall  decoration,  the  same  as  indicated 
above  for  carved  ornament.  It  seems  clear,  therefore, 
that  the  extent  of  the  relief  must  be  governed  by  the 
function  of  the  wall  mass  they  decorate. 

It  is  well  in  this  connection  to  consider  the  nature 
of  color  decoration.  Referring  back  to  the  surfaces  of 
various  textures  mentioned  above,  it  will  be  observed 
that  the  more  coarse  and  prominent  the  crystallization 
of  matter  the  deeper  are  the  shadows  on  its  surface, 
and  the  darker  its  general  tone.  This  gives  us  a  clew 
to  the  relation  existing  between  the  apparent  rigidity 
of  matter  and  its  color.  The  deeper  the  color  of  a  struct- 
iiral  part  the  greater  its  apparent  resistance  to  strain. 
As  the  tints  ranging  between  white  and  black  are  in 
numerable,  we  have  here  again  an  unlimited  gamut  of 
color  treatment  for  different  degrees  of  mechanical 
work  to  be  expressed. 

Tints,  however,  are  mixtures  of  crude  color.  Yel- 
low, blue,  and  red,  for  instance,  produce  a  neutral  tint. 
If  you  add  to  the  red,  the  tint  becomes  deeper ;  if  to 
the  yellow,  it  becomes  lighter.  To  mix  colors  in  a  pot 
is,  however,  not  doing  art- work ;  it  is  not  in  imitation 
of  nature.  To  form  a  proper  appreciation  of  nature's 
method  of  mixing  colors  in  tints,  cover  a  disc  with  al- 
ternate spots  of  red,  yellow,  and  blue,  placed  close  to- 
gether in  any  relation  determined  upon  until  the  whole 
'disc  is  covered.    Take  quantities  of  red,  yellow,  and 


ORNAMENT  AND  COLOR  DECORATION  323 


blue,  equal  to  tliose  wliich  have  been  used  in  coloring 
your  disc,  and  in  the  same  proportion  mix  these  colors 
by  rubbing  them  together  until  they  form  one  homo- 
geneous mass  (a  tint),  and  then  spread  this  tint  upon 
the  surface  of  another  disc  of  the  same  size  as  the  first 
one  used.  Place  these  two  discs  side  by  side,  say 
from  ten  to  twenty  feet  from  your  eye,  and  you  will 
see  two  discs  of  precisely  the  same  neutral  tint,  but 
you  will  notice  this  difference  : — the  first  disc,  although 
neutral  in  tint,  will  sparkle  and  shine  as  though  it 
were  lighted  up  with  an  internal  fire,  while  the  other 
disc  will  present  a  dull  gray  color  without  any  bril- 
liancy whatever.  Now  nature's  method  of  composing 
tints  is  precisely  that  by  which  your  first  disc  has 
been  prepared,  and  this  must  therefore  be  the  method 
employed  in  a  work  of  art.  Hence  architects  who  un- 
derstand the  principle  of  color  decoration  never  use 
mixed  tints  in  monumental  work.  They  use  decora- 
tive designs  instead,  and  produce  the  required  tint  by 
a  judicious  relation  of  ornament  to  space  between  or- 
nament, corresponding  to  that  recommended  above  in 
the  composition  of  carved  ornament.  The  ground  is 
treated  in  crude  color  (red  or  blue)  and  the  ornament 
in  a  lighter  color  (generally  gold).  By  this  means  any 
gradation  of  tint  can  be  produced  and  applied  to  the 
structure  on  the  principle  stated  above — "the  deeper 
the  color  of  a  structural  part  the  greater  its  apparent 
resistance  to  strain." 

Where  in  a  monument  the  surface  of  all  structural  or- 
ganisms is  covered  with  carved  ornament,  and  this  orna- 
ment is  in  density  and  relief  adapted  to  their  mechan- 
ical functions,  which  it  is  intended  to  accentuate,  the 
relation  of  tints  throughout  the  structure  is  already 


324 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


determined  in  the  calibre  of  the  carved  ornament,  and  all 
that  is  needed  is  to  apply  the  crude  color  with  judgment, 
and  the  relation  of  tint  wdll  correspond  with  the  carved 
ornament,  and  also  with  the  structural  construction. 

The  interior  of  the  Alhambra  serves  again  as  the 
most  successful  illustration  of  this  method ;  it  is  mod- 
eled in  plaster,  a  material  not  to  be  recommended  for 
its  dignity  or  durability,  and  hence  not  to  be  used  in 
a  monument  when  it  can  be  avoided.  The  surface  of 
this  plaster  ornament  is  entirely  gilt,  and  the  spaces 
between  the  ornament  are  treated  with  red  or  blue. 

Where  a  monument  is  built  of  stone,  and  it  is  in- 
tended to  decorate  its  surface  with  carved  ornament 
and  color,  each  separate  ashlar  and  voussoir  should  be 
designed  and  carved  separately ;  it  should  have  a  narrow 
plain  margin  all  around  near  the  joints ;  and  in  that 
case  it  is  well  to  preserve  the  natural  color  of  the 
stone,  and  treat  only  the  background  in  color.  In 
many  cases,  however,  the  surface  may  be  touched  with 
gold  lines,  and  picked  out  in  places  with  white,  and 
thus  the  highest  possible  effect  can  be  attained,  the 
natural  color  of  the  stone  being  preserved  at  the  same 
time,  which  it  is  desirable  to  do,  inasmuch  as  the  text- 
ure of  the  stone  maintains  the  character  of  rigidity 
better  than  artificial  coloring  can  be  made  to  do.  The 
great  principle,  which  may  be  accepted  as  an  axiom, 
should  be  never  lost  sight  of,  that  color  decoration  in 
architecture  means  composition  of  crude  color — a  mo- 
saic, not  a  mixture. 

Functional  expression  of  decorative  ornament  deter- 
mines design  in  this,  that  the  axis  of  every  group  of 
ornament,  as  well  as  of  isolated  elements  of  groups,  say 
every  leaf,  must  be  placed  in  the  direction  of  resistance 


ORNAMENT  AND  COLOR  DECORATION  325 


to  pressure,  and  hence  tliat  all  flowing  leaves  hanging 
loosely  are  not  architectural  ornaments.  Renaissance 
festoons  are  instances  of  the  kind  to  be  avoided.  It  is 
not  in  the  province  of  this  work  to  speak  in  detail 
of  the  nature  of  the  design  to  be  recommended  for 
various  purposes,  but  it  should  be  remembered  that 
the  virtue  of  architectural  carved  decoration  is  to  be 
sought  less  in  a  variety  of  elements  than  in  the  variety 
of  combination  of  a  few  simple  elements.  The  deco- 
rative work  of  the  Alhambra  may  again  be  cited  as 
a  marvelously  brilliant  illustration  of  this  principle. 

A  word,  however,  should  be  said  on  the  subject  of 
conventionalizing  natural  forms,  when  they  are  used 
for  the  purpose  of  architectural  decoration.  Artificial 
grain  (texture)  may  be  produced  in  stone,  wood,  or 
other  building  material,  by  cutting  on  its  face  geomet- 
rical figures,  combinations  of  straight  lines  and  curves, 
which  bear  the  character  of  natural  crystallizations. 
The  human  imagination  resorts  to  methods  of  this 
kind  involuntarily.  Productions  of  the  mechanic  arts 
assume  in  their  decoration  these  symmetrical  shapes  in 
the  hands  of  persons  who  do  not  pretend  to  efforts  at 
fine  art.  We  find  them  in  abundance  in  architectural 
monuments  of  every  period  of  art  history,  in  woven 
fabrics,  in  pottery,  in  the  cutting  of  precious  stones, 
and  in  articles  worked  in  all  metals.  They  are  the 
true  modifications  of  stone  and  metal  in  imitation  of 
nature ;  but  the  forms  which  surround  us  in  nature,  the 
organisms  of  animal  and  vegetable  life,  present  to  the 
human  mind  such  vivid  examples  of  superior  func- 
tional expression,  and  of  much  greater  variety  and 
multiplicity  of  direction  than  the  mere  molecular  ac- 
cumulation around  a  center  in  a  crystallization,  that 


326 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


men  have  become  impatient  of  linear  crystallization,  and 
eager  to  use  these  forms  of  animal  and  vegetable  or- 
ganisms in  the  decoration  and  modeling  of  architect- 
ural monuments  and  other  work  of  fine  art.  It  is  a 
question  of  profound  interest  to  architects  and  lovers 
of  architecture,  whether  the  pursuit  of  these  geomet- 
rical forms  would  not  ultimately  lead  to  combinations 
which  are  more  suited  to  the  rigid  character,  hardness, 
brittleness  and  rigidity  of  building  material,  and 
whether  these  combinations  might  not  in  time  rival 
the  vegetable  forms  adopted  for  their  freedom  of  move- 
ment and  variety  of  outline,  without  losing  the  crys- 
talline character  which  is  so  eminently  befitting  the 
material  and  its  functions.  It  is  a  question  now, 
whether  we  may  not  yet,  to  the  advantage  of  archi- 
tectural art,  return  by  another  road  to  these  simple 
methods  of  decoration.  However,  architecture  has 
adopted  animal  and  vegetable  forms,  and  made  them 
her  own ;  but  this  has  not  been  done  mthout  a  mental 
struggle  which  is  not  at  this  time  fully  allayed,  nor  uni- 
versally understood.  This  mental  struggle  results  in 
the  admission  that  these  forms,  although  very  beautiful 
in  themselves,  are  not  directly  applicable  to  rigid  ma- 
terials, like  stone,  wood,  and  metal ;  and  that  if  they  are 
to  be  applied  to  architectural  organisms,  the  question 
must  be  asked  and  answered — if  nature  had  attempted 
the  creation  of  a  leaf  or  a  flower  in  stone,  what  would 
have  been  its  modifications  ?  How  much  of  the  leaf 
or  flower  would  have  been  retained,  and  what  would 
have  been  added  to  it,  to  adapt  it  to  its  new  function  ? 
The  answers  which  have  been  made  to  these  questions 
have  resulted  in  imparting  to  animal  and  vegetable 
organisms  conventional  forms  whenever  applied  in 


ORNAMENT  AND  COLOR  DECORATION  327 


architecture,  and  other  branches  of  fine  art ;  and  the 
process  resulting  from  this  is  called  conventionalizing 
natural  forms. 

The  argument  is  somewhat  as  follows:  A  leaf,  a 
tree,  a  plant  of  any  kind,  grows  under  environments 
diifering  in  different  directions  :  there  is  a  north 
and  a  south  side  to  every  plant ;  a  side  from  which 
blows  the  cold,  driving  wind,  and  another  which 
brings  warm  moisture.  This  plant  must  of  course  be 
affected  in  its  growth  and  development  by  all  this  ;  and 
its  tendency  to  symmetry,  which  is  a  law  of  natural 
aggregation,  is  impaired  by  it,  more  or  less.  A  stone 
is  throughout  of  equal  hardness,  and  capable  of  resist- 
ance to  pressure  or  tension  equally  on  either  side  of 
any  given  axis,  or  very  nearly  so ;  and  even  if  not,  the 
functions  performed  by  it  in  our  architectural  organ- 
isms are  symmetrical ;  hence  it  follows  that  if  the 
form  of  a  vegetable  organism  is  to  be  adopted  as  part 
of  a  structure  its  symmetry  and  regularity  of  outline 
must  be  restored,  and  every  other  modification  made 
which  will  destroy  apparent  freedom  of  action,  and 
which  will  express  rigidity.  Again,  a  leaf  or  a  flower 
is  not  capable  of  doing  actual  work :  standing  upon 
its  stem  in  its  natural  condition,  it  yields  to  every 
breeze,  bends  under  every  drop  of  rain.  If  this  frail 
form  is  to  carry  loads,  or  serve  as  an  outside  symbol  of 
matter  which  is  engaged  in  carrying  loads,  then  it 
must  have  an  appreciable  fitness.  It  must  have  sharp 
faceted  sides,  which  strain  back  rigidly  against  the 
stone  it  springs  from.  A  leaf,  to  become  a  part  of  a 
structure,  in  one  word,  must  become  of  stone,  stony. 
To  impart  to  natural  forms  a  stony  or  metallic  rigidity, 
to  fit  them  in  their  contour,  and  more  especially  in  their 


328 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


sectional  development,  to  express  a  performance  of  me- 
chanical work,  is  the  process  of  conventionalizing  ani- 
mal and  vegetable  forms  when  used  for  the  decoration 
of  architectural  organisms. 

It  should  be  noted  here  that  the  introduction  of 
straight  and  curved  lines,  and  of  figures  resulting  from 
combinations  of  these,  into  the  surfaces  of  carved  orna- 
ment, more  especially  when  these  surfaces  are  of  con- 
sidei'able  size,  is  an  architectural  necessity.  It  imparts 
to  the  design  a  structural  firmness  which  is  impaired 
by  the  flowing  lines  of  animal  and  vegetable  organisms. 
A  word  should  be  said  also  in  this  place  of  the  unar- 
tistic  tendencies  and  practices  of  the  age  in  its 
decorative  art.  You  may  frequently  observe,  in  a 
structure  undergoing  decorative  treatment  and  renova- 
tion, workmen  engaged  on  the  outside  of  it  in  recut- 
ting,  redressing,  and  rubbing,  and  polishing  the  stone- 
work. The  attempt  is  evidently  one  to  impart  to  this 
structure  an  appearance  of  ne^vness.  On  the  inside, 
other  workmen,  engaged  in  decorating  its  wall,  indulge 
in  various  tricks  of  trade  to  impart  to  this  decoration 
an  appearance  of  age,  by  now  and  then  changing  the 
intensity  of  colors  and  tints.  The  effect  of  light  upon 
decorated  surfaces,  more  especially  where  gold  is  freely 
used,  is  to  change  the  color  effect  as  we  change  our  po- 
sition with  reference  to  the  light.  These  effects  are  also 
artificially  imitated  by  modern  decorators.  It  is  true 
that  time  mellows  color  to  its  advantage,  and  a  deco- 
rated wall  never  looks  as  well  when  just  finished  as  it 
will  a  few  years  after;  but  it  is  very  questionable 
whether  it  is  the  province  of  art  to  anticipate  time  for 
the  purpose  of  producing  immediate  effects.  It  is  at 
best  not  a  decent  practice  to  be  engaged  in  by  earnest, 


ORNAMENT  AND  COLOR  DECORATION  329 


trutlifiil  men ;  and,  like  all  shams,  it  meets  witli  its 
punishment  when  time,  persisting  in  its  right  to  deal 
with  art,  adds  its  own  touches,  to  the  great  confusion 
of  the  original  work.  Light  effects  upon  color  deco- 
ration are  often  marvelously  beautiful.  It  is  the 
province  of  the  architect  to  contemplate  such  effects 
in  the  composition  of  his  plans.  There  is  art  force  to 
be  discerned  in  the  work  of  the  man  who  plans  and 
provides  for  the  artistic  lighting  of  his  structure  in  an- 
ticipation of  future  needs,  but  it  is  a  mere  trick  to  im- 
itate (or  rather  to  attempt  an  imitation  of  light  effects, 
because  it  is  never  a  success),  without  knowing  what 
these  changes  of  color  observed  in  reality  are  or  should 
be. 

The  mediaeval  practice  of  frequently  changing  the 
design  of  decorative  ornament,  applied  to  different 
parts  of  structure  performing  the  same  function,  is 
now  affected  by  most  architects.  It  is  to  be  regretted, 
however,  that  the  laws  which  govern  density,  texture, 
and  color  are  not  observed.  If  two  piers  or  columns 
perform  the  same  mechanical  work,  the  capitals  of 
these  piers  or  columns  may  differ  in  design,  but  the 
two  designs  must  be  equal  in  density,  depth,  and  force 
of  ornament,  otherwise  the  variety  of  design  becomes 
detrimental  to  functional  expression. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 


STYLE. 

Methods  of  building  as  determined  by  prevalent 
ideas,  by  materials  used,  and  by  the  progress  of  architects 
in  the  science  of  construction  and  in  the  art  of  express- 
ing ideas  in  matter,  all  go  to  make  up  style  in  archi- 
tecture. 

The  modern  architect  devotes  himself  to  the  study 
of  architectural  styles  in  the  belief  that  he  may  thus 
attain  to  a  knowledge  of  architecture.  The  result, 
however,  is  only  a  sort  of  pictorial  knowledge  of  the 
successive  architectural  developments  of  the  past,  not 
a  knowledge  of  architecture  as  a  living  art.  The  rea- 
son is,  that  the  study  of  styles  is  pursued  as  an  inquiry 
into  forms  instead  of  as  an  inquiry  into  the  causes  of 
forms,  while  the  judgment  arrived  at  as  to  the  relative 
value  of  these  forms  is  merely  that  of  personal  feeling, 
and  not  that  of  the  student's  reasoning  powers.  If  archi- 
tects were  first  instructed  in  the  general  principles  of 
architecture  which  prescribe  rules  of  procedure  for  the 
expression  of  an  idea  in  matter,  the  matter  being  the 
whole  range  of  building  material,  and  the  means  the 
knowledge  of  construction  as  it  exists,  and  the  methods 
of  art  which  accord  with  aesthetic  principles,  a  subse- 
quent anal3rtical  examination  of  the  styles  of  the  past 
would  doubtless  furnish  valuable  examples  of  given 
330 


STYLE. 


331 


problems  solved,  to  tlie  end  that  other  problems  may 
be  solved  upon  the  same  principles.  This  is  the  course 
pursued  in  the  sciences  and  the  arts  generally.  The 
lawyer  studies  the  laws  of  his  own  country,  and  prac- 
tices according  to  those  laws,  although  he  may  have 
devoted  much  time  to  Mosaic  law,  Roman  law,  English 
law,  Dutch  law,  and  the  Colonial  law ;  they  all  assist 
him  in  the  more  thorough  understanding  of  his  coun- 
try's laws,  and  are  useful  also  in  legislation.  But 
these  obsolete  laws  are  never  adopted  as  a  whole,  and 
but  rarely  as  individual  provisions  of  law;  they  are 
simply  respected  as  the  result  of  principles  which  still 
remain  true,  and  as  a  development  of  methods  which 
may  not  be  adopted  by  us,  but  which  may  be  used,  in 
modified  form,  shorn  of  merely  local  and  evanescent 
features,  as  a  nucleus  for  laws  to  meet  modern  needs. 
Ptolemy's  explanation  of  the  motion  of  the  sun  and  of 
the  planets,  in  epicycles,  according  to  the  hypothesis 
of  Apollonius,  is  still  found  in  every  work  on  astron- 
omy in  which  the  history  of  that  science  is  treated,  al- 
though the  system  has  been  superseded  by  that  of 
Copernicus.  This  theory  of  Ptolemy  is  not  only  inter- 
esting as  denoting  a  wrong  road  to  truth,  but  has  been 
of  assistance,  since  its  abandonment,  in  determining 
the  true  places  of  the  planets. 

The  painter  and  sculptor  of  our  own  time,  as  well  as 
the  poet  and  actor,  reject  nothing  in  the  past  practice 
of  their  art  that  is  good  and  true  in  itself.  They  are 
willing  to  accept  information,  whether  arrived  at  to- 
day or  current  in  Greece  before  the  Christian  era ;  and 
they  do  not  hesitate  to  abandon  methods  and  ideas 
whenever  they  are  superseded  by  others  which  are 
better.     The   architect  alone  works  exclusively  in 


332 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


styles.  His  knowledge  lias  become  to  him  a  faith. 
He  believes  that  the  style  he  has  selected  for  perma- 
nent or  temj^orary  use  is  capable  of  solving  all  prob- 
lems of  to-day  as  well  as  those  of  two  thousand  years 
ago;  and  when  this  pious  theory  encounters  unsur- 
mountable  obstacles,  as  in  the  case  of  the  church  of 
St.  Peter's,  at  Kome,  he  designs  a  Gothic  ground-plan 
and  then  envelops  his  structure  in  a  Eenaissance 
mantle,  imagining  that  he  has  produced  a  work  of  Ee- 
naissance art  without  violence  to  his  architectural  con- 
science. 

The  explanation  of  this  enigma  is  to  be  found  in  the 
theory  that  success  in  fine  art  is  entirely  the  result  of 
inspiration,  while  the  guide  to  success  is  personal  feel- 
ing, which  is  termed  taste.  These  two  gifts  of  nature 
are  held  to  be  the  sum  and  substance  of  all  that  is  re- 
quisite in  art.  The  fact  that  the  great  authors  of  the 
Italian  Renaissance  were  none  of  them  architects,  in 
the  true  sense  of  the  word,  must  go  far  to  prove  this 
theory,  which  is  cited  here  not  to  discredit  the  labors 
of  the  Renaissance,  but  to  explain  the  style  mania 
traceable  to  that  period,  and  unkno^vn  before.  But,  it 
will  be  asked,  are  the  feelings  of  such  men  as  Borro- 
mini,  Bernini,  Brunelleschi,  and  Michael  Angelo,  to 
be  disregarded,  even  though  these  feelings  extended 
to  a  subject  of  which  they  were  not  masters? 
The  more  relevant  question  may  be  asked :  Did  not 
the  whole  learned  world  share  this  same  feeling,  at 
least  to  the  extent  of  a  distaste  for  Gotliic  art  ?  Feel- 
ing in  art  precedes  thought,  and  is  to  be  regarded  with 
respect.  Antipathy  to  Gothic  architecture,  as  it  ex- 
isted almost  everywhere  in  civilized  Europe,  and  more 
especially  in  Italy,  during  the  fifteenth  century,  was 


STYLE, 


333 


the  forerunner  of  a  very  just  and  important  revolution 
in  the  religious  and  art  ideas  of  the  world.  But  be- 
tween a  sentiment  and  the  application  of  that  senti- 
ment there  must  be  a  period  of  reflection.  This  pe- 
riod of  reflection  was  wanting  to  the  architecture  of 
1450,  and  it  has  been  wanting  ever  since. 

It  is  a  common  belief,  and  one  which  is  repeated  in 
most  works  on  architecture,  that  architecture  originated 
in  man's  need  of  shelter ;  and  we  are  told  seiiously,  as 
though  the  authors  of  these  works  had  been  present 
when  it  happened,  that  man  flrst  lived  in  caves,  and 
then  built  himself  a  hut,  and  finally  an  altar,  etc.,  etc. 
Now,  whatever  occurred  when  man  first  commenced 
building,  architecture  did  not  come  about  in  this  way. 

The  origin  of  architecture  must  be  sought  in  the  de- 
sire of  man  to  live  after  death.  This  short  life  of  ours 
is  devoted  to  the  effort  to  live  as  long  as  we  can,  and, 
perhaps,  help  others  to  do  the  same.  After  this  we 
desire  to  connect  our  individuality  with  the  cosmic 
spirit,  that  it  may  outlast  our  body  and  become  im- 
mortal. The  conviction  that  death  is  the  end  of  our 
material  life  has  ever  prompted  man's  faith  in  immor- 
tality. Coupled  with  this  desire  is  another,  to  perpet- 
uate this  faith  by  some  material  means.  Hence  the 
monument,  a  mound,  a  heap  of  stones,  a  cairn,  an  altar, 
a  temple.  Man  wishes  to  be  connected  with  some 
conception  of  immortality  which  includes  his  species. 

It  is  reasonable  to  assume  that  the  men  who  built 
mounds  and  pyramids  had  in  view  personal  monu- 
ments, without  any  clear  conception  of  how  personal 
virtues  or  merits  were  to  be  materially  expressed.  All 
that  they  attempted  was  to  tell  a  story  of  the  simplest 
kind:  "Eameses  lived  here,"  and  to  tell  that  story 


334  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


"forever."  This  eternity  of  physical  existence  is 
probably  the  sole  idea  they  wished  to  convey  in  mat- 
ter, and  it  needed  much  matter  to  express  it.  Since 
the  pyramids  were  built  there  has  been  a  continual 
advance  in  the  essence  and  quality,  as  well  as  in  the  va- 
riety, of  the  thought  which  has  constituted  problems  for 
material  expression.  It  must  be  remembered,  also, 
that  the  species  of  thought  recorded  in  religious  mon- 
uments has  passed  through  constant  modifications  by 
which  the  material  part  of  the  idea  has  been  more  and 
more  eliminated. 

The  Greek  god  is  the  material  emblem  of  one  god- 
like quality ;  the  Christian  God  is  the  immaterial  re- 
ality of  all  god-like  attributes.  To  express  this  idea 
by  a  musical  figure,  it  may  be  said  that  Greek  my- 
thology furnishes  a  long  list  of  simple  airs,  and  Chris- 
tianity the  gigantic  combination  of  the  oratorio. 
Every  one  can  understand  simple  airs ;  to  understand 
the  oratorio  needs  a  musician.  The  layman  may  be 
impressed  by  the  force  and  magnitude  of  the  compo- 
sition, but  he  will  never  understand  it.  The  authors 
of  the  early  Italian  Renaissance  were  laymen  in  archi- 
tecture. They  did  not  understand  and  they  disliked 
the  oratorio  of  Christian  art,  and  accordingly  reverted 
to  the  simple  Greek  airs,  which  were  vividly  presented 
to  their  minds  by  the  revival  of  Greek  literature. 

A  brief  review  of  Roman  history  shows  us  that 
Rome's  decay  is  coeval  with  the  rise  of  Christianity. 
The  fifth  century  found  the  Roman  Empire  a  Chris- 
tianized nation,  a  part  only  of  her  former  self,  and 
Roman  architecture  the  remains  of  her  greatness.  In 
the  days  of  Rienzi,  Rome  had  not  only  lost  her  i:>oliti- 
cal  influence  over  the  world,  but  she  had  also  lost  the 


STYLE. 


335 


power  to  govern  herself.  Her  wealth  accumulated,  not 
like  that  of  the  rest  of  the  world,  through  agriculture, 
manufactures,  and  trade,  but  because  she  was  a  great 
metropolis,  the  political  power  of  which  extended  from 
the  Mediterranean  to  the  North  Sea,  and  from  the  At- 
lantic to  the  East  Indies.  We  find  her,  after  the  con- 
quest of  the  Eastern  Empire  by  the  Turks,  a  head 
without  a  body,  a  prey  to  internal  dissension,  and  the 
Bishop  of  Kome  an  exile  at  Avignon.  When  the  last 
spark  of  self-government  had  died  out  in  Eome,  the 
pope  returned  to  it  to  make  himself  its  temporal  mas- 
ter, and  a  reigning  prince  among  princes.  Eome  at 
that  time  had  existed  for  a  thousand  years  without 
making  progress  in  architecture.  The  great  monuments 
of  her  past  yet  remaining  within  her  walls  had  fallen 
into  decay ;  the  statuary,  the  gold,  the  silver,  and  the 
bronzes  of  her  monuments  had  been  appropriated 
to  private  use,  and  their  walls  were  converted  into 
quarries  which  furnished  stone  and  lime  for  papal 
palaces.  Popular  government  had  subsided  into  that 
of  the  conclave,  then  consisting  of  twenty-two  car- 
dinals, selected  from  the  nobles  and  partly  also  from 
the  ranks  of  the  people,  but  governed  and  directed 
mainly  by  scions  of  the  imperial  and  royal  houses  of 
Europe,  subject  in  its  deliberations  to  certain  recog- 
nized powers  of  foreign  governments,  as  well  as  to  un- 
recognized political  machinations.  Here  the  popes 
intended  to  build  up  a  temporal  government  which  was 
to  exercise  a  spiritual  power  over  the  whole  Christian 
world.  Eome  was  again  to  become  the  capital  of  the 
world ;  her  former  magnificence  was  to  be  revived. 
To  demonstrate  this  revival  in  a  material  way,  the 
popes  proposed  to  erect  civil  and  religious  monuments. 


336  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


We  must  now  try  to  understand  the  relation  of  the 
Roman  artists  to  architecture ;  and  in  order  to  do  so 
it  becomes  necessary  to  review  the  leading  character- 
istics of  antique  and  mediaeval  art  as  both  stood  in  the 
fifteenth  century. 

Greek  art  dealt  exclusively  with  single  cells,  the  ex- 
pression of  one  individual  emotion.*  Though  we  cannot 
assert  positively  that  Greek  monuments  did  not  exist 
which  were  designed  to  accommodate  an  assemblage  in 
their  interior,  it  is  certain  that  Greek  temples  were  not 
so  intended.  Greek  theaters  were  probably  not  roofed ; 
of  other  habitable  structures  we  know  absolutely  noth- 
ing. The  Romans  in  their  Basilicas  certainly  present  a 
technical  solution  of  the  problem  of  housing  within  the 
walls  of  a  monument  a  congregation  of  men,  but  no  trace 
of  an  aesthetic  consideration  of  this  question  is  there  to 
be  found.  The  architecture  of  the  interior  of  the  Basilica 
is  a  repetition  of  the  architecture  of  its  exterior,  namely, 
a  series  of  columns  or  pilasters  surmounted  by  an  en- 
tablature which  sustains  a  plain,  unorganized  wall, 
dividing  the  nave  from  the  aisles  as  long  as  both  re- 
mained under  one  roof,  and  forming  the  clere-story 
when  the  nave  was  raised  above  the  roof  of  the  aisles. 

It  may  be  said  that  neither  Greece  nor  Rome  has 
produced  an  internal  architecture  worthy  of  the  name, 
or  one  which  could  be  ranked  with  the  interiors  of 
the  Egyptian  temples  that  preceded  them.  Neither 
Greek  nor  Roman  architecture  has  developed  an  aes- 
thetic tresitment  of  a  structure  containing  more  than 
one  story  in  height.    The  clere-story  of  the  Basilica  is 


*  The  Erechtheum  is  a  notable  example  of  failure  to  combine  three  cells 
into  a  monumental  group. 


STYLE. 


337 


rudimentary.  The  stories  of  the  Colosseum  are  a  repe- 
tion  of  the  same  element;  quite  satisfactory  perhaps 
in  this  case,  because  the  Colosseum,  after  all,  is  but  a 
single  cell,  and  its  stories,  therefore,  equal  in  value  as 
they  perform  equal  functions  in  the  interior.  Yet 
this  cannot  be  accepted  as  an  example  of  a  proper 
modelling  of  a  many  storied  structure  where  the  func- 
tions of  the  stories  differ  in  import  and  need  various 
forms  of  expression.  Prior  to  mediaeval  architecture, 
the  masses  composing  a  monument  were  not  modelled  ; 
their  functions  were  merely  indicated  emblematically, 
by  placing  a  pilaster  in  front  of  the  wall,  or  by  an 
architrave  in  front  of  the  jamb  and  lintel  of  openings. 

Whatever  knowledge  the  Greeks  and  Eomans  had 
of  the  use  of  the  arch,  and  the  Romans  certainly  did 
have  such  knowledge,  it  cannot  be  admitted  to  amount 
to  a  complete  architectural  development,  as  we  find 
nowhere  modelled  features  which  relate  to  lateral 
strains.  We  may,  therefore,  sum  up  the  attainment 
of  subsequent  mediaeval  architecture  as  follows : 

1st.  All  parts  of  structure  are  modelled  to  express 
their  functions.  These  functions  are  successfully  ex- 
pressed to  this  extent,  that  the  differences  of  dignity  and 
vigor,  as  well  as  the  comparative  elegance  with  which 
mechanical  work  is  performed  by  every  member  of 
structural  parts,  become  plainly  visible.  The  system  of 
denoting  functions  by  merely  emblematic  surface  dec- 
oration is  entirely  abandoned.  Roman  architecture 
covered  its  walls  with  pilasters  and  entablatures  in 
order  to  express  that  the  walls  so  decorated  perform 
the  function  of  resisting  perpendicular  pressure  in  like 
manner  as  similar  pressure  is  actually  resisted  in  the 
Greek  portico.  The  pilaster  was  substituted  for  the 
22 


338 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


column  in  order  that  it  might  be  understood  that  this 
pilaster  is  not  doing  but  merely  indicating  mechani- 
cal work.  Media3val  architecture,  on  the  other  hand, 
embodies  thought  in  the  form  of  every  part  of  the 
work,  and  thereby  imbues  it  with  life,  establishes  a 
principle  applicable  to  the  treatment  of  all  possible 
structural  parts  which  may  be  called  forth  by  future 
needs  and  future  efforts,  and  prefigures  the  artistic  de- 
velopment which  all  possible  combinations  must  assume. 

2d.  Architecture  is  elevated  into  a  system  which 
treats  of  cells  in  groups  or  piles,  placed  one  above  the 
other  in  stories,  or  alongside  of  each  other. 

3d.  Id  the  art  expression  of  strains  other  than  per- 
pendicular, and  the  invention  of  a  number  of  forms 
and  methods  of  treatment  to  answer  that  purpose. 

4th.  In  the  almost  unlimited  application  of  animal 
and  vegetable  forms  as  surface  and  structural  decora- 
tion as  compared  with  the  insignificant  repertoire  of 
the  antique.  (Of  course  we  do  not  include  in  this 
sculptures  of  the  human  figure,  etc.) 

Now  if  the  early  Renaissance  movement  had  been 
one  of  art  analysis,  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  the 
course  which  would  have  been  pursued  by  its  leaders. 
They  would  have  accepted,  as  elements  of  future  devel- 
opment, all  the  resources  of  architectural  art  then  at 
their  command,  instead  of  confining  themselves  merely 
to  the  limited  resources  of  the  antique.  But  it  was 
not  an  enterprise  based  upon  analysis ;  it  was  based 
upon  feeling  ;  and  in  order  to  understand  the  precise 
feeling  of  the  Renaissance,  and  to  know  how  mediaeval 
architecture  offended  Christian  men  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  we  must  learn  something  of  the  feeling  of 
mediaeval  Christianity, 


STYLE. 


339 


The  mythology  of  the  ante-Christian  world  was  one 
in  which  men  and  gods  lived  on  terms  of  equality  and 
intimacy.  The  gods,  like  man,  were  limited  in  their 
powers  and  attributes  ;  while  man  might,  by  the  prac- 
tice of  virtue,  or  by  a  development  of  mere  physical 
strength,  become  a  god.  The  intercourse  of  men  and 
gods  was  almost  unrestricted  and  often  carried  to  the 
extent  of  intermarriage.  Appeals  to  the  gods  through 
the  oracles  were  at  all  times  open  to  man,  and  the 
gods  frequently  condescended  to  favor  man  with  a  per- 
sonal interview.  The  gods  were  human  in  form,  and 
the  perfection  of  human  beauty  and  physical  strength 
was  that  which  symbolized  their  might  and  majesty. 
Their  work  in  behalf  of  man  was  human  work,  the 
overpowering  of  his  enemies  in  battle. 

Christianity  presents  a  religious  system  in  all  re- 
spects the  opposite  to  this.  It  is  the  exaltation  of  the 
Deity  and  the  humiliation  of  man.  Its  main  object 
seems  to  be  to  remove  man  from  God  in  every  sense 
which  constitutes  a  definition  of  their  related  being. 
To  exalt  God,  to  humble  ourselves,  become  almost  con- 
vertible terms.  God  is  all  in  all,  man  nothing.  Man's 
virtue  is  not  an  element  of  acceptance  in  the  eyes  of 
God,  nor  even  his  faith,  excepting  in  the  sense  of  mercy, 
not  of  desert.  To  believe  against  conviction  is  his 
greatest  merit.  To  do  right  and  yet  to  suffer  is  his 
lot. 

Virtue,  no  doubt,  is,  like  truth,  at  the  bottom  of  a 
well ;  we  dig  for  it,  but  we  never  reach  it.  To  en- 
courage us  in  the  effort,  to  nerve  us  with  hope  when 
we  have  long  neglected  our  duty,  to  ascetically  mortify 
ourselves  that  we  may  obtain  mercy,  is  a  system  of 
faith  peculiar  to  and  proper  for  the  ages  which  gene- 


340  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


rated  it.  Christ  was  of  the  poor  and  lowly,  and  so 
were  his  apostles  and  those  who  followed  in  their  path, 
and  of  thofee  were  the  men  who  built  the  cathedrals  of 
the  Middle  Ages. 

That  this  special  view  of  Christianity  was  architect- 
urally expressed,  no  sane  man  will  doubt ;  that  it  was 
expressed  in  a  sublime  manner,  superior  to  all  previous 
efforts  in  art  creation,  no  man  who  fully  understands 
architecture  needs  to  be  convinced;  that  more  was 
added  not  exactly  contemplated  in  the  system,  such  as 
a  great  array  of  saints  and  their  worship,  a  confessional 
of  doubtful  integrity  and  of  an  efficacy  frequently  per- 
nicious, a  purchasable  intercession  by  means  of  masses, 
a  large  array  of  ascetics,  of  monks  and  nuns,  who  con- 
tributed nothing  to  the  economy  of  religion  beyond 
maintaining  a  purposeless  existence,  presumably  de- 
voted to  the  service  of  God ;  and  that  furthermore  all 
these  addenda  to  Christianity  found  true  expression  in 
its  monuments,  we  all  know.  On  this  basis  the  poor 
and  the  lowly  created  temples  which  imposed  upon 
and  humbled  princes,  an  ecclesiastical  power  being 
vested  in  the  Bishop  of  Eome  never  before  possessed 
by  the  high-priest  of  any  people.  All  this  was  the 
result  of  a  system  based  upon  the  grandeur  and  omni- 
potence of  the  Deity,  and  the  humility  and  nothing- 
ness of  man.  When  the  pope  decided  upon  the  restora- 
tion of  the  architectural  magnificence  of  Rome,  it 
became  necessary  to  deal  with  a  new  problem  not  there- 
tofore contemplated  by  the  scheme  of  Christianity  as 
it  then  existed;  it  was  to  establish  a  place  for  the 
ecclesiastical  hierarchy  governed  by  a  veritable  monarch 
of  the  earth,  a  prince  of  the  church ;  and  the  city  of 
Rome,  which  had  been  without  an  architecture  for  a 


STYLE. 


341 


thousand  years,  was  now  to  be  endowed  witli  monu- 
ments expressing  that  relationship,  monuments  befit- 
ting the  dignity  of  the  Christian  high-priest,  who  had 
cast  off  the  lowly  garb  of  the  apostles  and  donned  the 
purple  in  order  to  be  a  king  among  kings. 

Again,  the  revival  of  Greek  literature  had  brought  be- 
fore men  the  joyous  and  sunny  humanity  of  antiquity, 
its  heroic  virtue,  its  philosophic  manliness,  its  liberty  of 
action,  its  physical  beauty,  all  of  which  contrast  with  the 
gloom  of  an  ascetic  church,  the  misery  of  an  oppressed 
people,  and  the  lawlessness  of  an  ignorant  and  vicious 
nobility ;  and  when  the  cathedral,  the  palace,  the  moat, 
and  the  draw-bridge  were  discerned  to  be  emblems  of 
human  misery  and  oppression,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
men  felt,  without  positively  knowing  it,  that  there  was 
a  connection  between  the  evils  which  surrounded  them 
and  the  church,  which  they  had  learned  to  regard  as 
the  greatest  good.  The  monumental  structure  no 
longer  represented  alone  the  power  of  a  moral  govern- 
ment, but  also  a  power  which  had  gradually  closed  in 
upon  them  on  every  side,  absorbed  their  substance, 
given  aid  to  their  enemies,  and  made  them  miserable. 
Human  nature  readily  adapts  itself  to  all  conditions, 
if  these  conditions  come  slowly  and  by  degrees.  Man 
is  hopeful  through  his  faith,  but  when  this  hope  was 
weakened  by  being  suddenly  confronted  with  the 
vitality  of  ancient  Greece  as  apparent  in  the  match- 
less symbols  of  her  heroism,  her  joy,  and  her  festivals, 
then  this  hope  faltered  and  was  succeeded  by  doubt. 

The  painters,  sculptors,  and  goldsmiths  who  formed 
the  art  cabinet  of  the  pope,  and  who  knew  architect- 
ure only  in  its  outer  forms,  and  not  in  its  principles, 
contemplated  cathedrals,  and  came  to  the  conclusion 


342 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


unanimously  that  this  sort  of  art  would  never  do  in 
the  light  of  classic  conceptions.  On  encountering  a 
strano-er,  we  form  some  idea  of  his  character  at  once  ; 
we  suppose  him  to  be  good,  generous,  frank,  and  lib- 
eral, or  wicked,  hypocritical,  and  false.  This  is  the 
impression  of  the  moment.  Works  of  art  impress  us 
in  the  same  way.  Look  at  a  mediaeval  church,  and  it 
suggests  more  than  years  of  historical  study  would 
impart.  The  mere  sight  of  a  work  of  art  excites  feel- 
ings which,  if  translated  into  ivords,  the  mind  would 
repel ;  as  it  is,  you  only  see  forms  Avhich  do  not  please 
you,  which  you  may  like  or  dislike  without  scruple. 
In  this  manner  mediaeval  Christian  architecture  did 
not  please  the  pope  nor  his  art  cabinet.  Had  you 
asked  the  pope  the  question,  he  would  have  told  you 
truthfully,  that  he  did  not  doubt  the  system  of  Chris- 
tianity in  the  least,  only  he  disliked  the  forms  of  its 
monuments  as  found  in  the  cathedrals  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  They  might  do  well  enough  for  the  people, 
but  they  would  not  do  for  him,  nor  for  his  hierarchy, 
nor  for  his  art  cabinet ;  he  would  have  something  which 
would  accord  more  nearly,  now  that  he  was  king  of 
Rome,  with  the  antique  spirit  of  Roman  heathenism 
and  Roman  imperialism.  This  was  what  the  pope  and 
his  hierarchy  thought.  It  would  have  frightened  them 
had  some  one  else  told  them  that  this  was  what  they 
thought.  But  there  was  no  danger  of  this ;  their 
thought  was  simply  an  impression  like  that  derived 
from  a  picture,  a  statue,  a  play,  or  any  other  ai-t-work. 
At  best  they  had  but  that  confused  knowledge  which 
art  imparts. 

An  architect  would  have  appreciated  the  situation 
at  once.    This  would  have  been  his  argument.  If 


STYLE. 


343 


cathedrals  do  not  express  tlie  pope's  Christianity,  then 
it  must  be  that  either  the  pope  does  not  understand 
the  art  of  cathedrals,  or  that  the  pope's  Christianity 
is  undergoing  a  change.  If  that  change  tends  to  a 
moderation  in  the  asceticism  of  the  church,  then  church 
architecture  needs  more  matter  and  less  spirit,  more 
nakedness  and  less  modelling,  more  frankness  and  less 
severity,  more  light  and  less  shadow. 

But  the  pope  was  unfortunate  in  the  selection  of 
his  architects,  or  perhaps  this  is  unjust  to  the  pope, 
as  there  were  no  architects  to  select  from.  The  pope 
referred  the  matter  to  artists  of  any  kind,  painters, 
sculptors,  and  goldsmiths.  What  was  their  report? 
They  declared  Gothic  architecture  to  be  barbarous; 
they  said  the  architecture  of  the  future  must  be  de- 
veloped direct  from  the  antique.  Now  this  was  not 
only  unnecessary,  but  very  unwise.  Why  abandon  the 
progress  of  ten  centuries,  because,  upon  the  principles 
developed  by  it,  ideas  had  been  expressed  which  were 
objectionable?  Were  Grecian  and  Roman  temples 
better  expressions  of  any  phase  of  Christianity  than 
Gothic  architecture  ?  Or  did  antique  forms  embody 
principles  of  construction  or  of  aesthetics  by  which  any 
architect  could  compose  monuments  of  the  complicated 
ideas  involved  in  the  problems  of  the  times?  Had 
these  questions  been  asked  and  answered  intelligently 
we  should  have  had  no  Renaissance  architecture.  But 
this  was  not  the  course  pursued.  The  founders  of  the 
Renaissance  were  not  looking  for  principles,  but  for 
forms ;  and  not  for  forms  which  express  given  ideas, 
but  forms  which  they  liked,  forms  which  they  could 
comprehend,  grapple  with,  and  master — ^that  is  to  say, 
forms  that  could  be  imitated  in  stone  without  encouu- 


344  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


tering  constructive  difficulties.  Greek  forms  answered 
this  purpose  eminently  well,  and  Greek  forms  were 
determined  on  as  the  proper  basis  for  the  architecture 
of  the  future.  This  was  not  wise  ;  it  was  not  the  best 
thing  to  do,  but  yet  it  was  practicable,  as  long  as  these 
Greek  forms  were  accepted  as  a  basis  merely  for  a  sub- 
sequent further  architectural  development.  Why  has 
no  new  architecture  been  developed  ?  For  three  hun- 
dred years  men  of  undoubted  ability  have  talked  of 
developing  architecture,  yet  Eenaissance  architecture 
is  a  so-called  style,  and  not  the  architecture  of  the 
present  time — in  fact,  not  architecture  at  all.  To  un- 
derstand this  thoroughly,  we  must  retrace  our  steps, 
and  examine  how  mediaeval  architecture  grew  out  of 
the  antique.  We  must  follow  the  road  once  pursued, 
that  we  may  estimate  the  conditions  of  another  pos- 
sible road  leading  to  a  similarly  successful  end. 

Mediaeval  art  found  but  few  elements  in  antique 
architecture  to  supply  the  ever-gro\ving  demands  of 
Christianity,  the  complex  needs  of  centralized  govern- 
ments, and  the  growing  necessities  of  the  individual. 
The  Christian  church  adopted  for  her  starting-point 
the  latest  creation  of  Roman  art,  the  Basilica,  which 
was  a  structure  suitable  to  accommodate  a  congrega- 
tion. As  stated  above,  the  Basilica  needed  an  aesthetic 
development  of  its  interior  architecture.  In  the  ab- 
sence of  such  development,  the  Romans  had  made  use 
of  the  then  prevalent  architecture  of  the  exterior  bor- 
rowed from  the  antique  portico,  consisting  of  columns 
supporting  an  entablature.  The  pediment  over  this 
entablature  was  omitted,  and  the  wall  of  a  clere-story 
built  upon  the  entablature,  thus  dividing  the  Basilica 
into  parts,  a  nave  and  two  or  four  aisles,  which  were 


STYLE. 


345 


easily  roofed  upon  wooden  girders  running  from  wall 
to  wall.  These  wooden  girders  grew  in  time  into 
simple  triangular  trusses,  well  organized  and  construc- 
tively modelled,  and  this  open  timber  roof  of  the  early 
Basilica  is  an  aesthetic  construction  not  surpassed  since 
in  simplicity  and  elegance.  It  was  soon  discovered 
that  the  long  entablatures  were  not  safe  against  the 
pressure  of  the  superincumbent  weight.  Not  that 
they  were  not  sufficiently  strong  to  carry  their  load, 
but  the  slightest  inequality  in  the  position  of  the  col- 
umns produced  fractures  which,  by  the  nature  of  the 
lintel,  became  troublesome  and  unsightly.  This  evil 
was  promptly  remedied  by  turning  arches  over  the  en- 
tablatures, so  as  to  transfer  all  the  weight  of  the  clear- 
story to  the  columns  themselves.  There  was  but  one 
step  from  this  to  omitting  the  entablature  altogether; 
but,  in  truth,  this  was  not  accomplished  at  once. 
The  entablature  was  first  omitted  between  the  col- 
umns, but  a  fragment  of  it  was  still  left  standing  over 
each  column,  the  cornice  running  all  around  and  form- 
ing an  unsightly  shelf  which  cut  off  from  below  the 
view  of  the  spring  of  the  semi-circular  arches  used, 
thus  foreshortening  the  curve  to  its  great  disad- 
vantage, and  leaving  between  the  column  and  the 
arch  a  superfluous  member  which  rendered  the  whole 
construction  apparently  unstable.  Finally  this  rem- 
nant of  the  entablature  was  also  abandoned,  and  a 
square  stone  or  springer  was  put  in  its  place. 

The  entablature,  as  created  by  the  Greets,  was  the 
crowning  feature  of  the  temple.  Its  cornice  adapted 
itself  to  the  outline  of  the  roof.  It  ran  horizontally 
at  the  sides  or  eaves  of  the  temple,  and  ascended  at 
the  gable  to  inclose  the  pediment.    At  the  eaves  and 


346 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


the  pediment  tlie  structure  was  thus  crowned^  com- 
pleted. This  general  form  as  thus  attained  precludes 
the  aesthetic  possibility  of  placing  above  this  form  any 
further  structural  element.  If  in  a  second  story  this 
method  of  construction  is  to  be  repeated,  it  is  clear 
that  both  the  cornice  and  pediment  must  be  aban- 
doned— the  architrave  and  frieze  alone  being  the 
elements  which  can  be  properly  borrowed  from  Greek 
architecture. 

The  introduction  of  the  barrel  vault  to  cover  spaces, 
being  more  monumental  and  dignified  than  the  open 
roof,  was  the  next  constructive  step  in  the  progress 
of  church  building.  The  walls  needed  to  resist  the 
lateral  pressure  of  these  barrel  vaults  were  of  neces- 
sity veiy  thick,  and  the  groining  of  these  vaults  and 
the  concentration  of  both  the  perpendicular  and  the 
lateral  pressure  upon  the  piers  between  openings 
where  these  piers  could  be  reinforced  with  buttresses, 
were  the  next  steps  of  progress  in  construction.  The 
flying  buttress  and  the  attendant  load  at  its  foot,  the 
pinnacle,  were  the  last  elements  of  a  complicated  sys- 
tem of  vaulting  as  perfected  in  the  twelfth  and  thir- 
teenth centuries. 

This  is  what  was  done  in  the  matter  of  construction ; 
in  the  meantime  art  was  not  idle.  The  column  could 
not  long  continue  to  express  the  function  of  sustain- 
ing the  clere-story  (more  especially  when  the  walls  of 
this  clere-story  had  become  thick  enough  to  resist  the 
lateral  pressure  of  the  vaulting)  without  becoming  in- 
ordinately large  in  diameter  in  relation  to  height. 
Square  and  octagonal  piers,  and  combinations  of  them, 
assumed  the  place  as  better  adapted  to  express  the 
complicated  forms  of  the  arches  springing  from  the  top 


STYLE, 


347 


of  these  piers.  And  when  to  these  arches  were  added 
diagonal  ribs,  which  supported  the  groined  vault,  the 
organization  of  the  pier  was  further  developed  by- 
betraying  in  its  form,  besides  the  square  shaft  which 
sustained  the  perpendicular  loads,  other  subordinate 
shafts,  square  or  round,  which  represented  in  the  pier 
the  succeeding  organization  of  the  arch  and  the  vault. 
The  buttress  which  represents  two  elements  of  re- 
sistance to  lateral  pressure,  load  and  leverage,  was 
formed  narrow  and  deep  with  offsets  and  pinnacles 
further  expressing  these  functions.  To  the  primitive 
form  of  the  Basilica  (a  nave  and  aisles)  were  added 
the  transept  and  the  highly  organized  choir.  The 
aisles  were  frequently  further  extended  between  the 
buttresses  in  the  form  of  chapels.  The  tower,  a  rem- 
nant of  early  art,  which  mainly  depends  on  magnitude 
for  its  effect,  has  been  used  and  developed  by  Chris- 
tian architecture  into  the  marvelous  pyramid  as  we 
see  it  at  Freiburg,  and  more  especially  at  St.  Ste- 
phen's, in  Vienna.  A  constant  transition  from  the 
strong  to  the  elegant,  which  finally  loses  itseK  in 
crystallizations  exquisitely  delicate,  yet  vigorous  and 
rigid  and  time-defying,  terminates  with  a  crowning 
glory  this  "  frozen  music  "  of  architectural  art. 

All  these  new  structural  parts,  invented  and  mod- 
elled by  Christian  art,  were  realities,  and  performed 
functions  of  the  greatest  mechanical  importance. 
They  expressed  the  spirituality  and  sacredness  of  the 
monument  and  an  exalted  idea  of  the  Deity  as  com- 
pared with  mortal  man.  To  accomplish  all  this,  the 
modelling  of  parts  was  carried  to  a  degree  of  refine- 
ment which  amounted  to  an  attempt  to  etherialize 
matter,  to  leave  matter  perceptible  only  through  a 


348 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


veil  of  idealism.  Christian  architecture  in  this  effort 
passed  beyond  the  ordinary  limits  of  apprehension ; 
it  appealed  to  ideas  artificially  generated,  those  espe- 
cially which  embodied  the  monastic  conception  of  life 
and  its  surroundings. 

It  is  this  latter  ascetic  feature  of  Gothic  structures 
which  frightened  the  men  of  the  Eenaissance  and 
drove  them  into  the  wilderness  of  Greek  architecture, 
and  prompted  them  to  try  and  develop  Christian 
architecture  anew.  Why  did  they  not  do  it  ?  The 
reason  is  simple  and  obvious.  At  every  step  forward 
they  found  themselves  treading  the  same  road  pursued 
by  the  men  of  the  eighth  century,  and  feared  to  land 
where  the  men  of  the  thirteenth  century  landed.  Be- 
sides, they  felt,  and  feeling  was  their  ruin,  that  they 
were  not  doing  Greek  work  but  mediaeval  work,  Avhich 
with  them  was  wrong.  They  assumed  that  Greek 
forms  were  the  essence  of  architecture,  and  every 
change  in  those  forms,  whatever  the  reason  for  it,  was 
a  heresy  against  style.  In  other  words,  they  proposed 
to  develop  architecture  without  adding  to  or  deduct- 
ing from  forms  heretofore  created. 

Let  us  pile  many  temples  one  above  the  other,  they 
said,  and  set  a  number  of  these  piles  in  a  row ;  let  us 
see  if  that  will  not  make  a  Christian  church,  or  a 
Christian  palace,  or  a  court  of  law,  or  a  parliament 
house,  and  when  we  are  satiated  with  piling  up,  we 
will  crown  it  all  with  an  attic  of  our  own  invention^ 
something  new,  which  is  surely  not  Gothic.  Nor 
Greek,  says  the  derisive  echo  from  all  quai'ters  of  the 
globe.  Look  at  this  attic  as  you  find  it  in  the  latest 
Renaissance  production,  the  opera-house  at  Monaco; 
look  at  it  as  you  find  it  in  the  great  Christian  Eenais- 


STYLE, 


349 


sance  temple,  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome.  Is  it  not  an 
abomination,  ruder,  more  vulgar,  unmeaning,  and  un- 
justifiable than  anything  ever  invented  by  civilized  or 
uncivilized  man  ?  Is  it  in  the  spirit  of  antique  archi- 
tecture to  pile  orders  one  above  another  ?  Is  it  con- 
sistent with  reason  to  finish  a  structure,  and  then  be- 
gin it  again  by  repeating  the  elements  of  pilaster  and 
entablature  ?  Can  we  call  this  an  idea  expressed  in 
stone  ?  Does  it  not  bear  the  same  relation  to  a  real 
work  of  art  as  the  repeated  poundings  of  a  kettledrum 
do  to  the  septet  in  Fidelio  ?  And  when  the  Renais- 
sance entered  upon  the  task  of  aesthetically  expressing 
interiors,  for  which  no  precedent  is  found  in  Greek 
work,  the  pilasters  and  the  entablature  were  again 
called  into  requisition  to  line  the  inner  side  of  walls, 
and  the  outer  surfaces  of  interior  piers  as  though 
they  were  structures  containing  spaces.  Under  the 
cupola  of  St.  Peter's,  at  the  intersection  of  the  nave  and 
transept,  there  are  four  noble  piers  measuring  diag- 
onally about  seventy-four  feet,  noble  in  magnitude,  for 
nowhere  else  do  we  find  such  a  waste  of  matter  doing 
so  little  aesthetic  work.  These  piers  are  surrounded 
with  the  same  formula  of  pilasters  and  entablature, 
and  are  belittled  with  niches  taken  out  of  their  sub- 
stance. When  we  examine  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's, 
at  Rome,  which  must,  after  all,  be  considered  as  the 
greatest  outcome  of  the  Renaissance  movement,  what 
do  we  find?  If  it  had  been  a  problem  to  build 
strongly,  and  make  that  which  is  strong  appear 
weak,  to  build  a  monument  of  great  magnitude  and 
make  it  look  small,  to  use  costly  materials  and  make 
them  look  mean,  to  carve  statues  and  place  them 
where  they  do  not  belong,  or  where  by  gravity  or 


350 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


position  they  could  not  possibly  abide ;  if,  further- 
more,  this  was  to  be  rendered  more  confused  by  taw- 
dry carving,  misapplied  color,  and  all  kinds  of  unmean- 
ing decoration,  that  problem  is  solved  in  the  interior 
of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  But,  says  the  chorus  of  its  ar- 
chitects, it  is  antique.  Not  at  all.  It  is  a  poor 
Gothic  church  shrouded  in  caricatures  of  Greek 
forms.  But,  says  the  chorus  again,  it  is  the  begin- 
ning of  a  new  era  in  architecture,  of  a  new  birth,  of 
the  Renaissance.  And  so  it  is,  and  so  Renaissance 
architecture  has  continued  to  build  for  three  hundred 
years,  not  always  so  devoid  of  art,  for  men  may  err  in 
principle  and  yet  may  not  always  do  utterly  bad 
things ;  and,  besides.  Renaissance  artists  never  again 
had  the  opportunity  to  spend  so  much  hard-earned 
money  upon  one  great  art  failure. 

Renaissance  aberration  has  established  this  one 
principle,  however,  that  architecture  as  an  art  is 
dead ;  that  we  may  work  in  styles,  that  is,  we  may 
masquerade  our  structures  in  old  forms,  or  in  what- 
ever we  may  imagine  to  be  a  substitute  for  these  old 
forms,  or  in  whatever  will  pass  current  as  such  among 
men.  We  must,  in  short,  cease  to  think  upon  the 
subject,  and  do  it  all  by  feeling,  by  inspiration,  by 
virtue  of  taste. 

It  is  wonderful  that  three  hundred  years  of  this 
inspiration  and  this  taste  have  brought  forth  nothing 
more  nor  better  than  the  old  formula  of  a  paii^  of  at- 
tenuated pilasters,  a  bushy  capital  of  acanthus  leaves, 
a  meagre  entablature  repeated  over  and  over  again  in 
the  same  structure,  representing  at  times  tiers  of  sto- 
ries one  above  the  other ;  at  other  times  embracing  in 
one  order  two  or  three  stories,  or  again  representing 


STYLE, 


351 


nothing,  a  dead  wall,  and  all  this  is  crowned  on  top 
with  that  wonderful  attic  of  round,  square,  horizontal, 
and  oblong  windows  surrounded  with  architraves  or 
wreaths  of  flowers.  And  more  than  this,  when  we 
have  imagined  this  pile  or  a  similar  pile  extending 
for  miles,  and  a  piece  cut  off  which  we  call  a  palace, 
and  another  piece  which  we  call  a  warehouse ;  then  a 
large  piece  called  a  church,  and  again  a  smaller  piece, 
called  a  club-house ;  no  architect,  whose  faith  is  in  the 
Renaissance,  will  say  aught  against  it.  It  is  good  ar- 
chitecture ;  it  is  a  work  of  fine  art ;  it  shows  feeling ; 
it  is  in  the  spirit  of  the  masters  of  the  Eenaissance. 
Can  this  be  art  ?    Surely  not. 

When  a  community  for  three  hundred  years  talks 
of  style,  feeling,  sentiment,  inspiration,  and  taste,  and 
builds  trash  all  the  while,  thinking  minds  conclude 
that  architecture  is  dead.  Others  again  (a  small  mi- 
nority) look  with  dismay  upon  this  great  waste  of 
human  labor,  and  conclude  that  it  is  perhaps  best  to 
begin  architecture  where  it  left  off,  a.d.  1450,  and 
then  the  whole  question  resolves  itself  into  the  battle 
of  styles.  Both  parties  cry  out,  our  style  is  best. 
Both  parties  approve  anything  in  architecture  but  a 
departure  from  style — ^the  Renaissance  style,  the 
Gothic  style ;  and  style  is  the  watchword  always. 

And  so  good  men  and  true,  clever,  honest,  and  con- 
scientious, are  working  in  styles  instead  of  learning  or 
practicing  the  great  art  of  architecture. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


STYLE.  CONTINUED. 

Of  that  portion  of  tlie  community  and  the  pro- 
fession which,  in  the  early  part  of  the  present  cen- 
tury, turned  its  face  toward  mediaeval  architecture  as 
the  new  Mecca  of  architectural  art,  a  word  is  to  be 
said,  both  in  justice  to  those  engaged  in  that  enter- 
prise, and  to  others  who  still  continue  with  the  Re- 
naissance school. 

Have  the  Gothicists  been  more  successful  than  their 
brethren  of  the  antique  ?  This  is-  a  question  which 
must  be  answered  deliberately  and  candidly  before 
considering  a  further  course  of  action.  At  the  outset 
lovers  of  Christian  architecture  found  themselves  op- 
posed by  the  public,  and  most  vehemently  by  an 
overwhelming  majority  of  architects.  The  immediate 
result  of  this  opposition  was  not  favorable  to  progress 
in  architecture.  The  controversy  which  ensued  be- 
came a  battle  of  styles,  and  the  combatants  rallied 
around  their  own  standai'ds  as  the  only  possible  guides 
in  art.  Something  was  said  by  the  Gothicists  of  an 
architectural  system  founded  on  thirteenth  century 
work ;  but  nothing  was  really  done  for  about  fifty 
years  in  that  direction,  certainly  nothing  that  will 
find  a  place  in  future  histories  of  architecture. 

One  reason  why  nothing  was  done  is  to  be  found  in 
352 


STYLE. 


853 


the  preference  given  to  Christian  architecture  by  those 
few  earnest  men.  They  had  discovered  a  treasure 
which,  the  more  they  examined  it,  the  more  admirable 
they  found  it ;  it  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  they 
did  not  observe  needed  changes  in  the  system  they  so 
highly  esteemed.  The  discovery  of  the  original  plans 
of  Cologne  Cathedral  probably  strengthened  this  feel- 
ing. An  association  having  been  formed  to  complete 
that  edifice,  a  number  of  eminent  architects  had  pre- 
pared plans  for  it  which  were  not  acceptable  ;  at  all 
events,  these  plans  remained  under  consideration  for 
a  very  long  time,  until  one  day  the  original  plans  were 
accidentally  discovered,  and  these  were  so  clearly  and 
immeasurably  superior  to  those  offered  that  the  asso- 
ciation without  delay  proceeded  with  the  building  in 
accordance  with  them.  This  was  another  incentive 
for  the  study  of  past  architecture,  which  is  not  sur- 
prising, as  no  Gothic  work  had  been  done  for  three 
hundred  years,  excepting  that  which  was  carried  on 
in  remote  rural  districts  and  towns  in  Scotland,  Ger- 
many, and  France,  by  masons,  carpenters,  and  stone- 
cutters, who  in  their  organizations  preserved  many  of 
the  methods  of  Gothic  building. 

Schools  of  architecture  (of  which  many  existed  on 
the  continent  of  Europe  at  the  time  of  the  Gothic  re- 
vival) gave  no  instruction  in  Christian  art ;  all  archaeo- 
logical, aesthetic,  and  constructional  inquiries  were  left 
to  individual  enterprise.  It  is  to  be  regretted,  how- 
ever, that,  with  few  exceptions,  these  inquiries  have 
been  so  largely  devoted  to  an  examination  of  forms 
rather  than  of  the  causes  of  forms,  their  functions, 
meaning,  actual  usefulness,  and  aesthetic  import.  Such 
an  inquiry  again,  could  not,  as  a  whole,  be  termed  a 
23 


354 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


critical  one;  all  Gothic  work  was  accepted  as  good 
and  worthy  of  imitation,  because  it  was  Gothic,  and 
much  work  was  done  in  the  way  of  imitation.  The 
Gothicists,  like  the  men  of  the  Kenaissance,  composed 
structures  out  of  Gothic  elements,  without  much 
thought  whether  their  work  was  good  or  not. 

The  result,  though  in  many  cases  bad,  was  on  the 
whole  not  so  deplorable  as  that  which  issued  from  the 
Renaissance  enthusiasm,  and  this  for  many  reasons. 
Much  of  the  work  done  consisted  of  a  restoration  of 
old  buildings  worthy  of  being  preserved  and  valuable 
in  art  history.  This  sort  of  work  demanded  no  talent 
for  composition,  no  aesthetic  study,  nor  even  much 
learning  pertaining  to  construction.  It  was  frequently 
conscientiously  and  well  done.  The  new  work  under- 
taken did  not  stimulate  the  creative  faculties  of  its 
authors,  and  frequently  failed  for  the  want  of  a  clear 
understanding  of  the  ideas  that  were  treated ;  we  may 
say,  without  much  injustice,  from  a  want  of  knowledge 
that  an  idea  is  involved  in  the  production  of  art- work. 
Architects  who  work  in  the  mediaeval  style,  as  Avell  as 
those  who  work  in  the  Kenaissance  style,  too  frequently 
err  in  believing  that  architecture  is  solely  a  matter  of 
form,  feeling,  and  taste.  But  if  we  remember  that  the 
scheme  of  mediaeval  architecture  as  we  find  it  in  the 
thirteenth  century  covers  nearly  all  methods  of  con- 
struction known  at  the  present  day,  and  also  the  use  of 
all  materials  now  employed  in  building  (excepting 
some  forms  of  rolled  iron  of  recent  invention),  and 
that  the  mediaeval  structures  preserved  to  us  cover,  so 
far  as  their  practical  use  is  concerned,  many  of  the 
purposes  for  which  similar  structures  are  needed  now, 
it  'becomes  apparent  that  the  so-called  Gothic  architect 


STYLE, 


355 


approaclied  mucli  more  nearly  to  the  solution  of  his 
problems  than  did  the  architect  of  the  Renaissance. 
Another  fortuitous  circumstance  is  found  in  the  extreme 
pliability  of  mediaeval  forms,  their  vast  number,  and 
the  wide  range  of  carved  ornament  and  color  decora- 
tion at  the  architect's  command.  This  has  made  it  pos- 
sible for  him  to  compose  out  of  the  elements  on  hand 
much  good  work  without  greatly  taxing  his  capacity 
for  the  development  of  new  forms.  It  is  true  that 
modern  Gothic  work  is  very  much  the  result  of  what 
is  called  feeling,  and  frequently  reflects  more  of  the 
personal  emotions  of  the  architect  than  those  of  the 
persons  for  whose  use  the  structures  are  erected.  It 
is  also  true  that  what  the  architect  loves  in  mediaeval 
art  is  often  the  result  of  a  series  of  causes  which  have 
no  direct  relation  to  architecture,  many  of  them  being 
incidental  and  imaginary,  and  many  more  being  abso- 
lute defects  even  when  considered  from  a  mediaeval 
stand-point.  Enthusiasts  in  the  profession  have  culti- 
vated a  taste  for  all  this  and  much  more  which  needs 
not  to  be  considered  here,  and  which  is  reproduced  in 
modern  work  to  its  great  detriment.  Yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  many  minds  are  daily  comprehending  the 
fact  that  an  architectural  monument  must  be  developed 
out  of  its  own  motive,  and  not  out  of  any  other  struct- 
ure, or  series  of  structures,  no  matter  how  good  they 
may  be,  or  how  old.  Mediaeval  architecture,  above  all, 
has  created  in  modern  architects  a  distaste  for  shams, 
a  tendency  to  treat  material  in  accordance  with  its 
nature,  a  due  regard  for  visible  construction,  and  a  de- 
sire furthermore  not  to  conceal  construction.  All  this 
goes  toward  expression,  which,  whether  true  or  false, 
is  nevertheless  expression,  while  much  of  it  leads  to 


356 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


truthful  expression.  This  is  certainly  a  great  gain 
over  the  architectural  results  of  the  past  three  hundred 
years.  If  the  mediaeval  school  has  not  redeemed  its 
promise  of  independent  thought  and  progress  from  a 
given  point  of  departure,  it  must  be  granted  that  the 
season  of  architecture  as  a  li\dng  art  has  fairly  opened, 
and  that  the  work  done  in  the  meantime  is  by  no 
means  entirely  a  failure. 

The  pursuit  of  styles  in  architecture  originated  with 
the  Renaissance  school,  which  holds  that  all  architect- 
ure subsequent  to  the  fourth  century  is  bad  and  use- 
less as  a  basis  for  future  work  and  must  be  rejected. 
Upon  this  principle,  the  Renaissance  school  has  acted 
for  four  hundred  years  without  contradiction  from  any 
quarter,  vrithout  opposition  or  interruption.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century  a  new  school  of  archi- 
tects appeared  which  disapproved  as  injudicious  this 
rejection  of  all  mediaeval  work  and  recommended  future 
progress  in  the  art  from  its  status  at  the  end  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  This  party  also  admitted  that  the 
monuments  of  the  thirteenth  century  did  not  contain 
in  their  completed  forms  expressions  of  current  ideas, 
but  urged  that  the  constructional  elements  of  these 
forms  should  be  utilized  and  new  architectural  forms 
,  developed  out  of  the  principles  established  through 
mediaeval  architecture. 

Both  parties  agreed  that  whatever  might  be  the  ad- 
ditions that  were  to  be  grafted  on  this  architectural 
trunk,  they  should  not  be  completed  forms  belonging 
to  the  styles  originally  rejected,  but  must  be  entirely 
new  in  character  and  in  accord  with  those  of  the  parent 
trunk.  The  Renaissance  architects  rejected  mediaeval 
forms ;  while  the  Gothic  architects  rejected  Greek,  Ro- 


STYLE. 


357 


maD,  and  Eenaissance  forms.  But  botli  schools  pro- 
fessed a  readiness  to  accept  improvements  in  arcliitect- 
ure,  meaning  by  this  the  incorporation  of  new  and 
heretofore  unknown  forms  in  their  favorite  architect- 
ural scheme. 

Art  forms,  especially  architectural  art  forms,  are  the 
result  of  changes  in  ideas,  in  methods  of  construction, 
in  materials,  and  in  aesthetic  reasoning.  They  are 
generally  the  gradual  outcome  of  a  series  of  ideas  or  of 
a  series  of  comparisons  of  the  relationships  of  matter. 

To  design  architectural  monuments,  therefore,  implies 
the  due  consideration  of  constructive  necessities  and 
of  properties  of  materials,  coupled  vdth  an  analytical 
investigation  of  subjective  emotions  and  of  the  methods 
whereby  these  can  be  expressed  in  a  material  organism. 
All  of  this  tends  to  the  development  of  forms.  Forms, 
then,  are  a  natural  result  of  reasoning,  and  grow  out  of 
it  without  being  invented.  It  is  an  error  to  think 
that  the  architect  in  his  composition  deals  with  com- 
pleted organic  forms,  which  must  be  either  borrowed 
from  the  past  or  invented  by  an  effort  of  the  imagina- 
tion. No  mental  effort  can  create  forrns  without  due 
reference  to  a  motive.  It  stands  to  reason,  therefore, 
that  architects  did  not,  under  the  circumstances,  suc- 
ceed in  creating  new  forms.  When  architects  reverted 
to  the  forms  of  the  past,  they  found  them  labeled  as 
belonging  to  a  certain  style,  and,  unless  this  happened 
to  be  their  primary  style,  the  forms  were  not  available. 
A  very  surprising  illustration  of  this  may  be  found  in 
the  fact  that  Renaissance  architecture  never  attained 
to  anything  beyond  the  acanthus  leaf  and  the  honey- 
suckle in  carved  decoration,  and  that  these  were  tortured 
into  forms  unbecoming  a  leaf  or  a  structural  element 


358 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


for  the  sake  of  novelty,  without  aesthetic  results.  In 
nature  forms  are  the  outcome  of  environment.  Envi- 
ronment determines  function,  and  forms  are  the  result 
of  function.  Nature  never  essays  to  compose  forms, 
she  acts  upon  a  much  broader  and  simpler  law,  which 
governs  all  matter.  Matter  moves,  accumulates,  and 
distributes  itself,  and  in  so  doing  facilitates  or  retards 
relations  of  matter  of  all  kinds.  Every  relation  of 
matter  has  a  certain  stability,  Avhich,  in  highly  organ- 
ized matter,  becomes  perceptible  in  the  shape  of  energy 
of  function.  This  energy  of  function  is  expressed  in 
nature  in  \dsible  form.  As  art  is  re-creation,  and  the 
forms  of  architecture  are  entirely  ideal,  the  problem  to 
be  solved  may  be  stated  thus :  We  know  the  methods 
by  which  nature  arrives  at  her  forms ;  shall  the  archi- 
tect presume  to  create  his  forms  at  once  full-fledged, 
complete,  as  it  were,  in  their  final  shape ;  or,  in  other 
words,  shall  he  attempt  to  tell  a  story  before  he  has 
analyzed  the  facts  to  be  related  ?  Can  this  be  done  ? 
No ;  what  he  must  do  is  to  study  the  conditions,  ana- 
lyze the  environment,  yield  to  it  everywhere,  respond 
to  it  always,  until  the  functions  resulting  from  all  this 
are  fully  expressed  in  the  organism ;  and  while  he  is 
thinking  of  all  this,  forms  will  grow  under  his  hands, 
forms  which  will  often  surprise  him  by  their  novelty, 
by  their  force  of  expression  (beauty)  and  then  again 
perhaps  by  their  simplicity,  which  in  connection  with 
other  structural  parts  of  a  more  complicated  and  a 
more  expressive  nature  serves  as  a  foil  to  enhance  the 
value  of  the  whole.  Many  an  earnest  architectural 
mind  has  no  doubt  of  late  pursued  architecture  in 
this  sense,  if  not  precisely  in  this  manner.  There  are 
unmistakable  indications  of  it  in  modern  work.  This 


STYLE. 


359 


Las  been  done,  however,  in  most  cases  as  it  were  in- 
tuitively, that  is  under  the  pressure  of  a  confused 
knowledge  of  the  system,  not  with  that  clear  under- 
standing of  it  which  leads  to  success.  Many  more 
will  no  doubt  hereafter  honestly,  conscientiously,  and 
diligently  try  the  experiment  and  yet  fail,  and  they 
will  wipe  out  their  composition  in  disgust,  and  sub- 
stitute for  it  in  rapid  succession  a  series  of  known 
completed  forms  until  they  arrive  at  one  which  will 
satisfy  their  taste.  Let  us  say  to  these  that  their 
failure  is  owing  to  defects  partially  enumerated  here- 
tofore under  the  head  of  Form  and  Construction,  which 
may  be  more  fully  considered  in  this  place. 

Defects  in  method  may  be  enumerated  as  imperfect 
or  false  cognition  of  the  idea  to  be  represented  in 
matter ;  as  a  failure  to  illustrate  the  idea  in  fitting  acts ; 
as  a  misapprehension  of  the  ensuing  emotions,  an  in- 
ability to  arrange  groups  which  will  express  these  emo- 
tions ;  a  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  construction 
which  govern  the  case,  or  an  obtuseness  in  not  appre- 
hending the  best  construction  to  answer  the  purpose, 
which  may  result  in  the  use  of  rude  or  undignified 
methods,  or  of  methods  too  refined,  too  brilliant  for  the 
purpose ;  a  want  of  comprehensive  knowledge  of  the 
proper  relation  of  parts  of  structure  or  of  single  cells, 
where  this  relation  is  determined  by  purely  constructive 
necessities  or  possibilities ;  and,  finally,  failure  may  re- 
sult from  the  fact  that  the  form  attained  is  still  insuf- 
ficiently developed.  Defects  of  judgment  consist  in 
haste  of  decision  before  the  part  designed  is  tested  in  re- 
lation to  the  whole ;  prejudices  acquired  by  an  ill-direct- 
ed course  of  education ;  a  love  of  forms  not  on  the 


360 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


ground  that  these  forms  are  good,  expressive,  or  forcible, 
abstractly,  but  that  the  designers  are  familiar  with 
them,  habituated  to  them  ;  a  lack  of  general  education 
which  would  otherwise  enable  them  to  rise  above  per- 
sonal prejudices  and  contemplate  impartially  the  nature 
of  ideas  as  held  by  others,  and  treat  these  with  respect ; 
ignorance  of  the  fact  that  while  in  most  art  produc- 
tions absolute  repose  is  the  highest  element  of  expres- 
sion (beauty),  the  ugly  and  the  sublime  often  play  im- 
portant parts  in  composition;  and,  finally,  the  greatest 
vice  in  architectural  practice,  the  attempt  to  do  too 
much.  In  addition  to  all  this  we  must  not  omit  the  all- 
pervading  error  of  the  architect  that  his  personal  taste 
has  something  to  do  wdth  the  matter.  Whenever  we 
are  betrayed  into  the  reckless  judgment  that  we  like 
or  dislike  a  work  of  fine  art,  because  it  is  gratifying 
or  the  reverse  to  our  taste,  we  must  conscientiously 
inquire  into  the  law  of  nature  or  of  aesthetics  which 
has  in  this  work  of  art  been  exemplified  or  offended ; 
and  if  we  cannot  give  a  clear  and  distinct  account  of  it, 
and  show  on  reasonable  grounds  what  should  or  might 
have  been  done  to  make  it  otherwise,  then  let  us  ab- 
stain from  any  judgment  whatever,  and  inquii-e  at  once 
into  our  personal  shortcomings.  If  the  word  taste 
could  be  dropped  out  of  language  (at  least  out  of  the 
vocabulary  of  the  artist)  art  would  gain  more  than  it 
possibly  could  gain  by  any  other  means.  The  general 
public  may  be  permitted  to  indulge  in  the  possession 
of  its  individual  and  collective  taste  as  long  as  no  art 
value  is  attached  to  its  fiat,  for  indeed  the  layman 
cannot  be  expected  to  possess  that  analytical  knowledge 
which  determines  the  merit  of  a  work  of  fine  art^  Avhile 
it  is  his  privilege  to  enjoy  the  results  of  the  confused 


STYLE. 


361 


knowledge  imparted  by  it.  Exactly  this  Is  the  func- 
tion of  such  a  work  in  the  social  economy  of  man,  viz  : 
to  be  understood  little  or  much,  and  to  be  received  as 
information  of  such  quantity  and  quality  as  the  sub- 
ject is  prepared  to  receive,  in  order  that  he  may  know 
so  much,  if  he  can  know  no  more. 

To  understand  the  nature  of  architectural  styles  we 
must  examine  their  leading  characteristics.  The  popu- 
lar definition  of  styles  refers  solely  to  the  use  of  the 
lintel  or  arch.  It  describes  Greek  architecture  as  a 
style  which  adopts  the  lintel  exclusively ;  Roman  and 
Romanesque  architecture  as  styles  wherein  the  round 
arch  is  used  ;  and  Gothic  architecture  as  the  style  where- 
in the  Gothic  or  pointed  arch  is  prevalent. 

That  this  definition  of  style  is  imperfect  becomes 
evident  when  we  reflect  that  no  characteristic  separat- 
ing the  Roman  from  the  Romanesque  styles  is  em- 
braced in  it,  and  also  that  Gothic  monuments  of  recog- 
nized merit  are  pierced  with  openings  covered  with 
round  arches  and  lintels.  Moreover,  the  introduction 
of  pointed  openings  in  the  walls  of  the  cella  of  a  Greek 
temple  would  not  constitute  such  a  temple  a  structure 
of  the  Gothic  style,  nor  could  a  Norman  monument  be 
converted  into  a  Greek  structure  by  substituting  lin- 
tels for  its  round  arches. 

The  history  of  the  development  of  the  arch  as  a 
structural  element,  no  doubt,  runs  parallel  with  the 
history  of  architecture ;  but  this,  after  all,  only  proves 
the  important  function  of  construction  in  the  art.  The 
use  of  the  arch  as  a  covering  of  spaces,  as  a  roof  of 
single  cells,  as  we  find  it  in  a  perfected  state  in  the 
cathedral  of  the  thirteenth  century,  has  been  the  cause 
of  new  architectural  organisms,  such  as  the  buttress,  the 


362  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


flying  buttress,  and  the  pinnacle,  wliicli  form  important 
features  in  late  mediaeval  architecture;  yet  the  charac- 
teristic of  styles  cannot  be  referred  to  the  presence  or 
absence  of  the  arch  alone,  nor  to  the  form  of  the  arch. 

The  ultimate  aim  of  architecture  is  the  expression 
of  an  idea  in  the  form  of  a  monument  as  a  whole,  and 
in  the  forms  of  its  subordinate  parts.  If  we  desire  to 
define  the  true  characteristics  of  architectural  styles, 
we  must  seek  for  this  definition  in  the  aesthetic  devel- 
opment of  architectural  forms. 

If  we  compare  antique  architecture,  comprising  the 
Greek  and  Koman  styles,  with  Christian  architecture, 
which  includes  the  Romanesque  and  Gothic  styles, 
vTe  observe  this  important  difference  of  treatment  of 
form,  viz :  That  in  Christian  architecture  all  model- 
ling of  masses  is  accomplished  by  cutting  away  por- 
tions of  these  masses ;  by  chamfering  the  corners  of 
piers,  jambs,  arches,  copings,  bases,  corbels,  and  other 
structural  parts ;  or  by  modelling  these  chamfers  into 
projecting  and  receding  members,  which  by  their  form 
and  arrangement  express  the  function  performed  by 
the  part  so  modelled.  It  is  important  to  recognize  the 
fact  that  in  this  art  process  of  modelling  it  is  always 
assumed  that  the  crude  mass  is  defined  by  boundaries 
of  rectangular  lines,  and  that  the  modelling  is  accom- 
plished by  cutting  away  a  part  of  this  mass. 

In  antique  architecture,  on  the  other  hand,  the  ar- 
chitectural treatment  of  masses  consists  in  placing  in 
front  of  openings,  jambs,  and  arches  such  modelled 
members  as  in  the  opinion  of  the  architect  will  con- 
ventionally designate  function ;  as,  for  instance,  the 
Greek  and  Roman  architrave,  which  is  placed  in 
front  of  doors  and  windows,  the  jambs  of  which  are 


STYLE. 


363 


and  remain  square-cut  openings,  and  the  conventional 
use  of  pilasters  and  entablatures  applied  in  Roman 
architecture  on  the  face  of  the  main  wall  of  structures 
to  designate  emblematically  a  pier  and  its  load.  An 
analytic  comparison  of  Romanesque  and  Gothic  mod- 
elling of  masses  shows  in  Gothic  architecture  a  con- 
sistent scheme  of  expressing  function  in  mouldings. 
Beginning  with  the  arches  and  ribs  of  the  vaults, 
their  salient  features  consist  of  beads  and  pear-shaped 
mouldings,  grouped  or  isolated  and  joined  together  by 
large  and  small  circular  or  elliptic  concave  curves, 
which  are  again  separated  from  the  projecting  mem- 
bers by  narrow  fillets,  or  melt  into  them  by  a  mere 
transition  of  the  curves.  These  groupings  of  modelled 
members,  when  bent  in  the  curve  of  the  arch,  express 
powerful  rigidity  at  the  intrados. 

The  rib  mouldings  of  the  vault  are  generally  repre- 
sented in  the  pier  by  a  single  shaft  of  cylindrical  form 
— a  column,  in  fact,  surmounted  with  a  plain  or  deco- 
rated capital  which  forms  the  transition  from  this 
shaft  to  the  rib  mouldings,  the  transverse  area  of 
which,  taken  together,  is  larger  than  that  of  the  shaft. 
The  mouldings  of  the  main  arches  are  often  divided 
into  several  groups,  most  frequently  into  three,  one 
of  which  is  placed  in  the  center,  and  each  of  which 
may  consist  of  one  or  more  mouldings.  These  groups 
are  accentuated  by  the  magnitude  of  the  concave 
mouldings  which  separate  them  from  the  next  group, 
while  the  concave  mouldings  separating  projecting 
members  in  the  same  group  are  made  smaller  than 
these.  These  arch  mouldings  are  represented  in  the 
piers  by  one  or  three  shafts,  also  supplied  with  capi- 
tals for  the  purpose  of  an  aesthetic  transition. 


364  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


In  the  best  examples  of  Gothic  work  every  group 
of  shafts  which  represents  the  mouldings  of  one  arch 
is  again  gathered  into  one  base  above  the  main  base  of 
the  pier.  Thus  the  very  base  of  the  pier  plainly  ex- 
hibits the  construction  of  the  main  arches  and  ribs, 
and  hence  the  formation  of  the  vaults.  Frequently 
the  shafts  supporting  the  ribs  of  the  aisle  vaults  on 
the  side  opposite  the  main  piers  are  permitted  to  run 
down  to  the  base,  the  inside  of  the  outer  wall  thus 
forming  a  grouped  pier  together  with  the  window 
jambs.  The  outer  buttresses  are  joined  to  this  group, 
and  we  are  presented  here,  in  a  horizontal  section  of 
these  outer  piers,  with  the  collective  elements  of  per- 
pendicular supports  and  lateral  abutments  in  the 
ultimate  vaulting  of  the  structure. 

In  Romanesque  architecture  only  here  and  there 
isolated  efforts  at  such  a  completed  organism  are  ob- 
servable. In  most  cases  all  indication  of  a  systematic 
modelling  of  masses  is  wanting. 

A  similar  comparison  of  the  Greek  and  E-oman 
styles  shows  in  the  former  the  fully  developed  portico 
and  an  entirely  undeveloped  cella;  while  in  the  latter 
the  cella  becomes  an  inhabited  structure,  but  is  not  ar- 
tistically developed  as  such,  but  overlaid  with  a  mask 
which  is  but  a  scenic  representation  of  the  Greek  portico. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Renaissance  period,  when 
Greek  and  Roman  architecture  were  accepted  as  the 
basis  of  a  future  art  progress,  the  question  would  have 
been  pertinent :  Shall  the  mediaeval  system  of  mod- 
elling the  masses  of  subordinate  structural  organisms 
be  rejected  or  not  ?  It  will  be  observed  that  this 
system,  as  such,  does  not  involve  definite  forms,  and 
hence  does  not  carry  with  it  even  the  forms  of  the 


STYLE. 


365 


style  whicli  grew  out  of  it.  It  is  a  system  whicli  ap- 
plies to  every  organic  member  of  a  monument,  and 
directs  that  its  mass  shall  be  modelled  in  accordance 
with  its  function,  by  cutting  away  a  part  of  the  crude 
rectangular  mass  and  leaving  a  sculptured  form  which 
accords  with  a  true  expression  of  function.  It  leaves 
nothing  untouched  by  the  hand  of  art ;  it  leaves  no 
essential  organic  mass  in  its  rude  shape  as  it  issues 
from  the  hands  of  the  architect  in  his  capacity  as  a 
scientific  constructor;  it  leaves  no  functional  meaning 
to  be  explained  afterward  by  covering  the  face  of  a 
mass  with  a  mask,  which  is  merely  the  bas-relief 
representation  of  another  structure.^ 

*  To  illustrate  the  insufficiency  of  this  primitive  expedient  of  Roman 
architecture,  we  need  to  point  only  to  the  great  piers  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome 
which  support  the  dome.  These  piers  are  not  modelled  so  as  to  show  their 
magnitude  and  function,  but  are  covered  with  an  order,  which  means  a  series 
of  pilasters  and  entablatures.  It  is  not,  therefore,  clear  to  the  spectator  that 
these  masses  of  masonry  are  piers  at  all  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  made  proba- 
ble that  they  are  inclosed  cells,  the  function  of  which  is  not  apparent,  while 
the  actual  function  of  the  pier  is  inadequately  expressed.  Again,  in  the 
exterior  walls  of  St.  Peter's,  the  opportunity  to  treat  their  masses  in  accord- 
ance with  the  functional  meaning  and  spirit  pertaining  to  the  arrangement 
of  the  openings,  and  hence  to  the  relation  of  the  exterior  walls  to  the  organic 
development  of  the  interior,  has  been  neglected  ;  and  when  the  forms  of  these 
walls  in  their  nakedness  presented  themselves  to  the  authors  of  the  various 
designs  prepared  for  that  monument,  the  necessity  of  some  structure  which 
shall  be  architecturally  organized,  presented  itself  to  their  feeling,  if  it  did 
not  appeal  to  their  reason.  Instead  of  modelling  the  main  walls,  the  old 
Greek  portico  was  resorted  to  to  cover  an  apparent  architectural  nakedness, 
and  a  many-storied  edifice  was  hidden  behind  a  one-storied  portico. 

All  this  indicates  a  preference  for  antique  forms  as  manifested  in  the  col- 
umn and  entablature.  Beyond  this,  it  proves  that  the  architects  of  St.  Peter's 
neglected  to  inquire  into  the  meaning  of  forms,  or  else  they  would  have  either 
rejected  its  ground-plan  as  essentially  Gothic,  which  they  did  not  do  because 
of  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  relation  of  the  ground-plan  of  a  structure 
to  its  resulting  form  ;  or  they  would  have  erected  upon  this  ground-plan  a 
structure  which  conforms  to  it,  and  treated  the  masses  as  indicated  in  the 
groand-plan  on  the  principle  of  mediaeval  modelling,  without  necessarily  re- 
sorting to  mediaeval  forms. 


366 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


This  same  question — can  we  in  modem  arcliitecture 
overlook  the  manifest  advantage  of  the  superior  and 
direct  expression  of  masses  to  be  derived  from  mod- 
elling them,  or  must  we  still  continue  to  seek  expres- 
sion in  a  mere  mask  because  the  Romans  did  so  ? — is 
still  unanswered  by  all  those  who  consider  Greek  and 
Roman  architecture  to  be  perfect  styles  to  be  imitated 
in  form,  without  reflecting  upon  the  defect  or  short- 
coming of  the  system  upon  which  these  forms  are 
based.  To  model  structural  masses  is  not  antagonistic 
to  the  spirit,  meaning,  or  expression  of  any  idea,  nor 
does  it  involve  the  use  of  any  special  form.  The 
architect  under  its  guidance  may  express  in  his  mod- 
elling the  broad  and  simple  treatment  of  the  Greek  or 
the  more  complicated  spiritual  expression  of  the  thir- 
teenth century ;  he  may  range  between  the  two  or  beyond 
them  at  either  end  of  the  series,  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  emotion  which  he  intends  to  express ;  but  he  can- 
not persist  in  covering  his  real  construction  with  a  mere 
emblematic  conventional  construction  without  detri- 
ment to  expression,  and  hence  to  art.  Nor  can  he  by 
so  doing  maintain  the  integrity  of  a  style.  This  opens 
the  broader  question:  Can  a  style  be  maintained  in  any 
sense  in  a  living  and  progressive  aii?  Is  it  desirable 
to  accept  styles  in  their  ultimate  forms  as  complete 
when  reflection  shows  that  they  are  not  complete  ? 

The  answer  to  these  questions  must  be  a  decided 
negative.  Architecture  is  the  art  which  teaches  the 
development  of  structural  forms.  If,  instead  of  devel- 
oping forms,  we  borrow  forms,  we  are  not  pursuing 
architecture  as  a  creative  art. 

Then  again  the  forms  developed  by  the  architect 
must  be  perfect  in  this,  that  they  must  fully  express 


STYLE, 


367 


tlie  function  of  organic  structural  parts.  If  we  know 
tliat  more  perfect  expression  may  be  attained  by  mod- 
elling each  part  than  by  facing  it  with  a  scenic  rep- 
resentation of  a  matured  architectural  form,  then  the 
architect  must  so  model  each  part,  and  he  cannot  re- 
turn to  Roman  practice  which  fails  to  deal  directly 
with  the  masses.  The  architect  may  reject  Gothic 
forms,  and  necessarily  must  do  so  if  the  expression  of 
the  idea  he  attempts  to  materialize  results  in  other 
forms,  as  it  necessarily  will,  because  the  idea  is  mod- 
ern and  not  mediaeval;  but  he  cannot  reject  this  medi- 
aeval method  of  modelling  structural  masses.  He  is 
precluded  also  from  using  Greek  and  Eoman  forms, 
for  the  double  reason  that  they  do  not  represent 
modern  ideas,  and  that  they  are  not  modeled  upon 
the  most  perfect  system  now  known  to  the  art. 

If  we  come  to  the  wholesome  conclusion  that  all  or- 
ganic masses  must  be  modelled,  the  question  of  how 
7nuGh  they  should  be  modelled  deserves  consideration. 
Antique  architecture  failed  to  model  all  its  masses,  but 
did  model  salient  elements  of  structural  mass  such  as 
columns,  cornices,  etc.  And  if  we  insist  upon  it  that 
the  Greek  column  and  cornice  are  an  architectu- 
ral development  of  form  eminently  beautiful,  we  must 
also  recognize  that  these  forms  express  only  a  narrow 
range  of  structural  function. 

The  modelling  of  masses  as  exemplified  in  Roman- 
esque architecture,  although  applied  to  all  structural 
elements,  may  without  injustice  be  pronounced  to  ex- 
press monumental  vigor  more  than  refinement.  Gothic 
modelling,  on  the  other  hand,  seems  to  be  an  attempt 
at  the  absorption  of  matter  in  a  minute  and  bewilder- 
ing expression  of  thought  which  in  its  effort  at  clear 


368 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


representation  of  the  idea  borders  upon  a  demonstra- 
tion instead.  The  pursuit  of  styles  will  not  help  us 
here  as  we  cannot  adopt  any  of  the  methods  of  the 
past  without  modification.  But  without  adopting 
forms  of  any  kind,  without  even  contemplating  the 
methods  of  modelling  exemplified  in  styles,  in  order 
to  make  architecture  a  living  art  we  must  adopt  the 
abstract  principle — that  to  express  functions,  all  masses 
must  he  modelled. 

The  history  of  carved  ornament  and  color  decora- 
tion, beginning  with  the  acanthus  leaf,  the  fret,  the 
honeysuckle  and  egg  and  dart  of  the  Greeks,  leads  us 
through  a  vast  range  of  animal  and  vegetable  foiTQs, 
which  have  been  conventionalized  and  applied  in  me- 
diaeval architecture,  to  the  decoration  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  which  in  design  and  brilliancy  of  color  far  surpasses 
all  previous  efforts. 

It  is  admitted  that  the  Greeks  in  their  decoration 
used  crude  color  and  not  mixed  tints.  The  use  of  crude 
color  in  modern  architecture  is  therefore  not  objected 
to*by  the  strictest  purists  of  any  style.  The  Eenais- 
sance  has  practically  confined  itseK  to  the  ornament 
found  in  antique  work;  but  it  theoretically  admits  the 
use  of  all  animal  and  vegetable  forms. 

It  follows,  therefore,  that  the  architecture  of  the  fu- 
ture must  be  permitted  to  design  its  carved-ornaiiient 
and  color  decoration  mthout  being  trammeled  by  the 
recognized  restrictions  of  style ;  but  again,  as  in  the 
case  of  modelling  the  masses,  it  must,  to  preserve  unity 
in  art,  apply  carved  ornament  and  color  decoration  in 
accordance  with  the  idea  which  is  to  be  expressed  in 
the  monument,  and  with  the  general  principles  which 
prescribe  the  technical  methods  of  decoration. 


STYLE, 


369 


As  no.  aesthetic  objection  has  ever  been  raised  against 
any  known  method  of  construction,  all  methods  of 
construction  are  of  course  available  to  the  architect;  it 
follows,  therefore,  that  the  moment  architecture  ceases 
to  be  a  compilation,  and  becomes  a  vital  development 
of  architectural  forms,  the  elements  of  these  forms  may 
be  selected  from  the  whole  known  range  of  construc- 
tion, modeling,  carved  ornament  and  color  decoration, 
and  the  pursuit  of  styles  is  naturally  discontinued. 

The  question  has  been  asked  frequently,  without 
receiving  a  satisfactory  reply  :  If  the  forms  of  the 
past  are  to  be  rejected,  is  the  architecture  of  the  fu- 
ture to  have  no  columns,  arches,  buttresses,  cornices, 
brackets,  or  other  organic  structural  features  which 
now  constitute  the  architectural  repertoire  j  and  what 
are  we  to  substitute  for  these  forms  ?  As  long  as  the 
law  of  gravity  is  a  property  of  matter,  posts,  lintels, 
and  arches  of  some  kind  will  be  needed  to  support 
structural  masses ;  but  we  need  no  proof,  outside  of 
that  afforded  by  the  architecture  of  the  past,  to  show 
that  under  different  conditions,  all  these  structural 
organisms  assume  different  forms,  and  these  conditions 
are  still  changing  and  will  continue  to  change  in  the 
future.  It  may  be  reasonably  assumed  that  the  pier 
and  arch  of  the  future  will  bear  the  same  relation  to 
the  pier  and  arch  of  the  thirteenth  century  cathedral,  in 
its  vigor,  expression,  and  decorative  treatment,  that  the 
latter  does  to  the  Doric  column  and  entablature ;  and 
also  that  constructive  necessities  will  call  forth  new 
constructive  forms,  just  as  the  buttress  and  the  pinna- 
cle have  been  the  constructive  result  of  the  vaulted 
roof.  But  while  we  may  expect  to  enlarge  the  archi- 
tectural gamut  by  increasing  its  range  both  in  the 


370 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


direction  of  the  upper  and  lower  notes,  and  by  tuning 
these  notes  more  clearly  to  a  concert  pitch,  it  is  in  the 
possibilities  of  composition  more  than  in  the  possibili- 
ties of  the  gamut  that  we  shall  find  the  great  source 
of  new  architectural  forms. 

When  a  man  enters  upon  the  practice  of  architect- 
ure as  a  dealer  in  forms,  keeping  forms  of  different 
styles  in  the  separate  pigeon-holes  of  his  brain,  setting 
up  structures  as  a  child  sets  up  blocks,  being  careful 
always  to  use  blocks  only  out  of  the  same  box,  he  soon 
begins  to  think,  and  his  thinking  becomes  a  faith,  that 
the  essence  of  architecture  is  in  the  keeping  of  styles 
separate,  and  in  studying  hard  to  increase  the  number 
of  pigeon-holes  wherein  to  keep  his  forms  judiciously 
divided.  While  science  is  constantly  approaching 
fundamental  laws  in  the  hope  that  perhaps  some  day 
one  great  mechanical  law  will  be  found  which  explains 
all  phenomena,  the  architect  deals  with  the  result  of 
laws — ^with  forms — multiplies  and  assorts  these  con- 
tinually, and  expects  in  this  manner  to  attain  to  the 
production  of  works  of  fine  art — to  the  re-creation  of 
creation.  A  moment's  reflection  will  show  us  that 
architecture  must  in  this  way  become  choked  with  the 
rubbish  of  the  past,  and  that  in  truth  it  is  so  choked 
now.  Had  the  Greeks,  the  Romans,  and  the  archi- 
tects of  the  Middle  Ages  worked  in  the  styles  of  their 
predecessors  only  we  should  be  building  pyramids 
to-da}^ 

Can  the  ideas  of  the  j^resent  time  be  expressed  in 
the  architecture  of  any  or  all  styles  as  they  are  now 
defined  ?  It  must  be  that  the  majority  of  professional 
architects  and  their  clients  are  of  opinion  that  all  the 
architectural  styles,  at  least  beginning  with  Greek 


STYLE. 


371 


architecture  and  ending  with  the  Renaissance,  are 
fitted  to  express  every  conceivable  idea  in  a  v^ork  of 
architectural  art,  or  else  structures  would  cease  to  be 
built  in  these  styles,  or,  at  least,  in  some  of  them.  A 
critical  examination  shows  the  fallacy  of  this  ;  in  fact 
it  jDroves  that  no  existing  style  of  architecture  can  be 
accepted  as  a  basis  of  a  work  of  fine  art  to-day  without 
material  modification  of  its  principles  and  practice ;  a 
modification  which  would  soon  remove  it  from  its  pres- 
ent place  in  the  list  of  styles.  Style,  we  repeat,  is  the 
result  of  ideas,  of  materials  and  of  methods  of  construc- 
tion and  of  progress  in  artistic  ability  to  express  ideas 
in  matter  architecturally.  The  status  of  architecture 
at  the  present  time  and  during  the  four  or  five  preced- 
ing centuries  has  been  and  is  inferior  to  that  of  the 
antique  and  mediaGval  periods.  This  is  universally 
admitted.  The  cause  must  be  found  in  a  deteriora- 
tion, of  one  or  more  of  the  elements  of  style,  viz. : 
ideas,  material,  construction  or  art  expression. 

Now  methods  of  construction  and  a  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  the  principles  which  relate  to  statics,  exist  to- 
day in  a  degree  unsurpassed  in  the  whole  known 
history  of  the  past.  Nature  and  the  mechanic  arts 
combine  to  supply  us  with  the  best  building  mate- 
rial. Ideas  change  constantly ;  but  no  one  will  say 
that  our  ideas  are  further  removed  from  the  truth,  or 
less  capable  of  being  expressed  in  emotional  form, 
than  those  held  by  the  people  of  antiquity  and  the 
Middle  Ages.  Our  superiority  in  ideas,  materials  and 
methods  of  construction,  over  those  of  the  past,  must 
be  granted  by  every  intelligent  and  candid  mind ;  and 
hence  our  failure  as  architects  must  be  attributed  to 
our  lack  of  ability  to  represent  ideas  in  matter,  which 


372 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


is  a  lack  of  the  art  element  in  the  process.  To  ex- 
press this  fully  and  plainly,  we  must  say  we  are  not 
good  architects,  and  in  order  to  become  good  archi- 
tects we  must  understand  clearly  wherein  we  are 
defective. 

Our  defect  may  be  summed  up  in  the  delusion  that 
we  can  attain  to  art  results  as  good  as  those  of  the 
past,  without  pursuing  the  same  or  a  similar  road  to 
that  which  was  pursued  b}^  our  predecessors,  viz.:  to  rec- 
ognize mechanical  construction  as  the  only  method  by 
which  an  idea  can  be  materially  expressed  in  a  monu- 
ment. We  all  know  that  an  idea  may  be  represented 
by  painting  a  material  act,  or  an  emotion  arising  from 
it,  upon  canvas,  or  by  cutting  it  in  stone,  or  by  giving 
expression  to  it  in  musical  sounds.  Now,  if  we  desire 
to  give  material  expression  to  an  idea  in  a  monument, 
we  must  "build  this  monument  with  that  view.  Build- 
ing in  this  case  takes  the  place  of  painting,  cutting  in 
stone,  or  playing  upon  an  instrument.  We  must 
build  not  only  technically  well,  but  with  expression, 
and  we  can  do  nothing  but  build  to  accomplish  our 
object.  The  moment  we  go  outside  of  building  we 
are  not  doing  architecture,  unless  indeed  we  do  some- 
thing which  helps  the  thing  we  have  built  upon  prin- 
ciples which  are  again  the  outcome  of  building.  Our 
material  cannot  assume  form  by  any  possible  combinar 
tion  or  modification  of  it  other  than  that  suggested 
by  mechanical  construction,  which  is  building ;  it  can- 
not be  modelled  for  any  other  purpose  excepting  to 
emphasize  the  building  already  done,  to  heighten  the 
expression  of  stability,  elegance,  boldness,  and  majesty 
in  the  thing  which  we  have  built,  which  means  our 
construction.    When  we  decorate  and  paint  this  con- 


STYLE. 


373 


struction,  we  must  do  it  upon  principles  wMcli  are 
constructive,  or  else  we  do  not  add  to  our  constructive 
expression,  but  detract  from  it.  Whatever  we  do,  we 
must  be  able  to  explain  upon  mechanical  principles. 

If  we  do  this  well,  and  nothing  more,  brilliant  archi- 
tectural forms  will  be  the  result.  But  we  shall  not 
fully  know  these  forms  until  they  are  completed  in  our 
structure. 

Shall  we  refer  to  the  architecture  of  the  past,  or 
must  we  ignore  it,  to  become  good  architects  ?  By  all 
means  let  us  keep  in  view  the  work  of  the  past,  not 
for  the  purpose  of  imitating  its  forms,  but  for  the 
purpose  of  utilizing  the  accumulated  knowledge  and 
technical  skill  manifested  in  its  works.  The  Greeks 
modelled  their  porticos,  their  columns,  entablatures, 
and  gables,  but  no  part  of  their  cella.  There  was 
a  good  reason  for  this ;  the  cella  represented  not  an 
idea  but  a  mystery.  This  mystery  was  not  to  be  rep- 
resented, but  enveloped,  in  the  poi-tico,  and  this  was 
well  done.  In  our  monuments  we  have  no  mysteries 
to  conceal,  but  we  have  ideas  to  represent ;  hence  all 
structural  parts  must  be  modelled.  The  only  style 
which  modelled  all  its  monumental  masses  is  the  Gothic 
style  of  the  thirteenth  century.  From  it  alone  we  can 
learn  the  principle  upon  which  this  may  be  done,  but 
we  need  not  look  to  it  for  the  method,  ''How  it  is 
to  be  done."  The  how  depends  upon  our  fundamental 
ideas,  our  material  and  construction,  and  not  upon 
those  of  the  Middle  Ages.  But  then  the  Eomans  did 
not  model  their  masses ;  they  screened  them  with  a 
scenic  mask.  Is  there  nothing  to  be  learned  from  this  ? 
Yes  ;  very  much.  We  may  learn  from  it  that  the  play- 
ful use  of  forms  does  not  constitute  architecture.  As 


374 


NATJJTtE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


an  attempt  at  architectural  progress  it  has  proved  a 
failure  with  the  Eomans,  as  it  will  inevitably  prove  a 
failure  whenever  or  wherever  it  is  repeated.  But 
then,  it  may  be  said,  Roman  architecture  appears  to 
us  so  dignified,  so  noble,  that  we  cannot  believe  it  to 
be  a  total  failure  as  a  phase  of  art.  It  appeals  to  our 
artistic  sympathy,  and  we  do  not  like  to  condemn 
it.  It  is  entirely  true  that  Roman  architecture  pre- 
sents a  phase  of  constructive  progress  unparalleled 
in  any  other  epoch  of  the  history  of  architecture. 
Roman  structures  command  our  respect  by  reason 
of  their  magnitude  and  structural  development.  The 
Romans  exceeded  their  masters,  the  Greeks,  in  the 
boldness  of  the  problems  which  they  attempted  to 
solve.  They  solved  these  noble  problems  construc- 
tively, but  not  artistically.  We  may  pay  due  tribute 
to  their  genius,  while  yet  admitting  that  their  artistic 
efforts  added  nothing  to  our  art  experience,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  misled  the  architects  of  the  Renaissance, 
a  thousand  years  later,  into  a  systematic  development 
of  errors,  which,  pardonable  in  the  Romans,  are  not 
pardonable  in  their  imitators  at  a  time  when  the 
aesthetic  fallacy  of  these  errors  has  been  practically 
demonstrated.  There  is  one  thing  more  to  be  learned 
from  all  this,  viz. :  That  neither  the  Greek  nor  Roman, 
nor  yet  the  Renaissance  style,  is  a  completed  architec- 
tural scheme  which  can  be  applied  to  modern  work, 
simply  because  no  one  of  these  contains  any  general 
system  of  modelling  the  masses. 

Those  architects  who  have  anchored  their  hopes 
for  the  future  to  the  Greek,  Roman,  and  Renaissance 
styles,  swinging  with  the  tide  in  their  stately  archi- 
tectural ship  under  the  delusion  that  they  are  ad  van- 


STYLE. 


375 


cing,  will  doubtless  ask,  at  tMs  point  of  our  discussion, 
whether  they  are  to  be  driven  into  Gothic  architecture 
by  logical  arguments  against  their  personal  inclina- 
tions ?  There  is  no  such  intention ;  all  they  need  to  do 
is  to  weigh  their  anchor,  and,  if  their  ship  is  still  sea- 
worthy, take  advantage  of  a  fair  wind  and  seek  the 
port  which  is  for  any  reason  most  agreeable  to  them- 
selves ;  and,  if  they  ever  arrive  at  such  a  port,  they 
will  not  find  it  surrounded  with  castles  and  churches 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  If  antique  and  Renais- 
sance architecture  fail  to  supply  the  needs  of  the 
nineteenth  century  because  of  imperfect  construction 
and  imperfect  aesthetic  development,  mediaeval  styles 
do  not  supply  modern  needs  because  of  a  failure  to 
express  modern  ideas,  although  their  facilities  of  con- 
struction and  their  aesthetic  possibilities  would  not  make 
it  very  difficult,  under  the  system  as  it  exists,  to  reach  a 
perfect  representation  of  later  ideas  in  those  styles.  Yet 
when  the  work  is  done,  the  resulting  monuments  would 
bear  but  little  resemblance  to  mediaeval  monuments — 
at  least  not  to  the  eye  of  the  mere  connoisseur  in  forms. 

It  occurs  sometimes  that  monuments  are  begun  in 
a  manner  which  does  not  in  fact  express  or  promise  to 
express  the  ideas  which  they  are  intended  to  com- 
memorate. May  we  in  this  case  change  their  "  styles? " 
When  any  one  is  telling  a  story,  it  is  not  good  man- 
ners— or,  in  other  words,  it  is  not  wise — to  interrupt 
him.  It  is  true  he  may  tell  his  story  bunglingly ;  he 
stammers,  perhaps,  or  hesitates  ;  encourage  him  all  you 
can,  but  do  not  disturb  him  by  corrections.  If  the 
story  is  worth  telling,  if  the  author  sticks  to  the  text, 
if  he  does  not  digress  or  pervert  the  truth,  it  is  well 
that  he  should  finish  in  his  own  way  for  the  sake  of 


376  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


unity.  But  if  he  talks  against  time,  to  make  it  ap- 
pear that  lie  is  telling  a  story ;  if,  perchance,  he  does 
not  know  that  there  is  a  story  to  be  told,  or  what  is 
the  story  he  is  to  tell,  and  still  keeps  on  talking  in 
the  fond  hope  that  his  audience  knows  no  more  than 
he  does  himself,  and  that  any  sort  of  iiTelevant  talk 
will  answer  the  purpose — it  is,  perhaps,  best  to  stop 
this  drivelling  at  once,  and  attack  the  subject  ^vithout 
delay  or  circumlocution.  The  future  critic  will  dis- 
cover at  once  what  has  happened.  A  man  has  been 
employed  to  build  an  iron-clad,  and  he  has  gathered 
cedars  from  Lebanon  to  build  a  trireme.  He  is  zeal- 
ously intent  upon  a  prow  which  adds  to  the  sectional 
area  of  the  ship,  and  interferes  with  the  range  of  the 
guns ;  he  is  building  up  benches  for  the  rowers,  and  is 
hard  at  work  upon  the  figure-head.  The  people,  in 
the  meantime,  have  found  out  their  mistake,  and  are 
tearing  down  the  useless  hamper,  and  are  getting  ready 
the  armor,  the  steam-engine,  and  the  heavy  guns.  An 
error  has  been  committed,  but  these  people  were  not 
foolish  enough  to  persist  in  it ;  they  had  the  good 
sense  to  correct  it  in  time  to  launch  a  serviceable  craft. 
If  a  stmcture  is  not  an  architectural  production — 
which  means  not  a  work  of  fine  art — because  it  fails 
to  express  the  idea  which  is  meant  to  be  celebrated, 
you  cannot  go  on  with  this  sort  of  thing  in  unison — 
that  is,  you  cannot  continue  with  irrelevant  twaddle, 
and  yet  tell  a  story.  The  sooner  you  stop  it  and 
begin  to  relate  facts  as  they  are,  the  better  it  is  for  the 
good  of  the  monument  and  the  interests  of  its  builders. 

Mediaeval  architects  acted  up  to  this  principle  al- 
ways, and  so  did  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans.  As 
.soon  as  they  had  become  convinced  that  the  idea  could 


STYLE. 


377 


be  better  expressed  in  any  way  whatever,  they  did  not 
hesitate  to  improve  their  monuments  while  still  in 
progress. 

Examples  of  this  may  be  cited  in  the  palace  of  Dio- 
cletian at  Spalatro,  the  cathedral  of  St.  Stephen  in 
Vienna,  the  cathedral  of  Strasburg,  and  many  other 
monuments. 

The  Renaissance  architects  introduced  their  forms 
into  structures  which  were  partially  or  entirely  com- 
pleted, or  in  structures  which  had  been  injured  by  fire 
or  otherwise,  without  the  warrant  of  understanding 
architecture  better  than  the  authors  of  these  struct- 
ures, or  without  the  good  reason  that  the  style  which 
they  had  adopted,  or  which  they  had  intended  to  de- 
velop, was  especially  expressive  of  the  ideas  which 
originated  those  monuments.  They  were  governed  by 
the  arbitrary  reason  that  they  liked  the  forms  of  that 
style  better.  Examples  of  this  proceeding  are  to  be 
found  in  the  Doge's  palace  at  Venice,  the  cathedral  of 
Milan,  Westminster  Abbey,  and  the  interior  fittings  of 
almost  all  the  cathedrals. 

The  ideas  which  have  heretofore  been  commemorated 
in  monuments,  always  subject  to  change,  are  at  this 
time  manifestly  undergoing  a  revolution.  Ideas  are 
not  in  our  time  materialized  as  much  as  they  are  dis- 
cussed. This  discussion  is  not  confined,  as  heretofore,  to 
the  priest  and  the  statesman,  but  thrown  open  to  the 
public  at  large  by  means  of  a  free  press.  Many  write, 
many  more  read,  and  all  sit  in  judgment,  upon  politi- 
cal, religious,  and  social  ideas. 

The  statesman  no  longer  legislates  for  the  good  of 
his  country,  for  the  individual  interests  of  his  king,  or 
of  a  privileged  aristocracy,  nor  even  for  the  benefit 


378 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


of  the  people  at  large ;  lie  only  endeavors  to  reflect 
public  opinion.  Tlie  priest  even  preaches  religion  with 
deference  to  public  opinion;  while  questions  of  social 
relations,  agitated  from  the  bottom  of  society  upwards, 
are  fast  engrossing  that  same  public  opinion.  AVhat  is 
to  be  the  upshot  of  all  this  is  fortunately  of  minor  im- 
portance in  our  inquiry,  but  the  present  travail  of  the 
monster,  whatever  it  may  ultimately  bring  forth,  is  not 
now  specially  favorable  to  progress  in  art.  Men  acknow- 
ledge the  difficulty  of  arriving  at  the  truth,  but  they 
take  the  liberty  to  doubt  all  things  in  the  meantime. 
They  are  determined  that  Christianity  is  not  to  be  as 
it  was ;  they  have  protested  against  this  in  good  ear- 
nest, and  sealed  the  protest  with  a  long-continued  war. 
But,  as  Lllbke  says,  "  Der  Protest  an  tismus  muss  erst 
sein  Princip  aus  der  Wust  erstarter  Ueberlieferungen 
retten  und  es  dan  mit  dem  Schwert  vertheidigen ;  seine 
kiinstlerishe  Verklarung  bleibt  einer  splltern  Zeit 
vorbehalten."  * 

In  all  this  we  can  see  a  marked  difference  between 
the  development  of  ideas  now,  and  the  similar  develop- 
ment in  the  past.  At  present  the  process  of  develop- 
ment is  a  public  discussion  of  the  idea  ;  in  the  past  it 
was  a  private  elaboration  of  it.  When  finally  matured, 
the  idea  was  born  with  great  labor  and  introduced  to 
the  world  amidst  popular  convulsions,  war,  and  social 
changes.  But  between  these  great  upheavals  there 
were  periods  of  repose  sufficiently  long  to  permit  art 
to  speak  in  monuments,  not  upon  the  topics  of  the  day, 
as  we  should  say  in  our  time,  but  upon  the  topics  of 


*  Protestantism  must  first  save  and  gather  its  principles  out  of  the  mass  of 
traditions,  and  must  defend  them  with  the  sword.  Its  artistic  beatification 
remains  to  be  developed  by  the  future. 


STYLE, 


379 


the  period.  There  is  also  another  difference,  fortu- 
nately an  imaginary  one.  Up  to  the  fifteenth  century 
leading  minds  knew  that  the  people  could  be  instructed 
only  by  pictures,  by  art  productions ;  since  we  have 
learned  to  print,  we  incline  to  think  that  it  can  be 
done  better  by  a  verbal  definition  of  ideas.  Without 
denying  that  some  progress  has  been  made  in  this 
way,  we  need  only  to  examine  the  substance  of  printed 
matter  to  be  convinced  that  this  small  progress  is  not 
owing  so  much  to  instruction  derived  from  scientific 
thought,  as  to  the  confused  knowledge  which  finds 
its  way  into  novels,  plays,  and  other  literary  produc- 
tions of  more  or  less  art  value.  To  promulgate  ideas 
we  need  the  help  of  art  as  much  to-day  as  we  did  two 
thousand  years  ago.  Now  what  is  the  architect  to  do 
under  the  circumstances  ?  He  must  first  and  foremost 
impress  upon  the  public,  and  more  especially  upon  his 
clients,  the  important  function  of  ideas  in  architecture. 
He  must  demonstrate  that  mere  form  is  not  art,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  that  the  mere  discussion  of  an  idea  is 
not  in  itself  an  idea  with  which  art  can  deal.  He  must 
hold  fast  to  the  broad  elementary  ideas  which  are  the 
essence  of  human  relations,  and  point  out  with  untiring 
industry  where  these  fundamental  ideas  are  overlooked 
or  neglected. 

With  regard  to  his  work  of  developing  ideas  in 
matter,  he  must  utilize  every  advance  made  up  to  the 
present  time,  not  in  the  production  of  completed  ar- 
chitectural forms,  but  in  the  causes  of  forms — which  are 
methods  of  construction,  material,  aesthetic  modelling, 
and  decoration.  If  he  finds  in  the  past,  or  if  he  thinks 
that  he  has  conceived  in  his  mind,  an  architectural  form 
of  a  whole  monument,  or  of  a  part  of  a  monument, 


380 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


wliicli  is  especially  pleasing  to  him — which  he  would 
like  for  that  reason  to  introduce  in  a  projected  monu- 
ment— he  must  deny  himself  that  privilege  at  once 
and  with  determination.  He  must  submit  to  this  argu- 
ment :  If  I  thoroughly  understand  the  idea  which  I 
am  to  illustrate  by  expressing  it  in  matter  ;  if  I  under- 
stand the  emotions  pertaining  to  it,  I  must  evolve  first 
the  single  cells  which  will  correspond  to  the  groups  of 
persons  who  are  to  inhabit  this  monument,  with  a 
view  to  represent  the  fundamental  idea,  and  I  must 
then  select  from  the  whole  range  of  known  methods 
of  construction  that  which  answers  the  physical  rela- 
tion of  matter  as  it  presents  itself  in  this  arrangement 
of  single  cells,  and  which,  by  its  degree  of  boldness, 
elegance,  or  of  simplicity  and  directness  of  expression, 
will  correspond  with  the  emotion  to  be  depicted. 
When  this  is  successfully  completed,  and  the  masses 
of  the  proposed  monument  are  determined,  I  will  so 
model  and  carve  and  color  them  that  the  meaning  of 
every  part  of  this  structural  organism  shall  become 
more  apparent,  and  its  ability  to  perform  mechanical 
functions  shall  be  more  clearly  demonstrated.  I  Avill 
use  for  this  purpose  any  or  all  known  decorative  forms, 
or  will  devise  others  by  conventionalizing  any  suitable 
forms  found  in  nature  or  art,  so  long  as  the  forms  so  used 
will  answer  the  purpose  for  which  they  are  used,  viz., 
to  heighten  the  effect  and  express  more  clearly  the 
function  of  parts  in  performing  their  assigned  me- 
chanical work.  Now  when  all  this  is  done,  it  is  not 
probable  that  the  completed  form  arrived  at,  either  in 
the  monument  as  a  whole,  or  in  any  part  of  it,  will  be  at 
all  like  any  architectural  form  heretofore  produced ;  it 
will  not  be  the  form  of  any  style ;  it  will  be  a  true 


STYLE. 


381 


original  development,  wliicli  may  not  upon  first  trial 
seem  very  promising  to  its  author,  but  whicli,  when 
persisted  in  by  the  individual  architect,  and  then  by  a 
generation  of  architects,  will  show  true  progress  in  art. 
If  the  architect  then  love  his  art ;  if  he  essays  to  com- 
pose a  monument  as  a  thing  to  be  built ;  if  he  will,  above 
all  things,  forget  himself  and  his  audience,  and  think 
of  nothing  but  his  work ;  and  if  he  will  wipe  out  from 
his  memory  every  vestige  of  the  baneful  thing  he  calls 
style,  and  do  that  which  is  good  and  true  and  just 
only,  whether  it  belong  to  the  past  or  the  present, 
then,  indeed,  he  will  have  the  consciousness  of  being 
true  to  art  and  to  himself,  and  he  will  have  done  his 
share  toward  making  architecture  a  living  art. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


ANALYSIS. 

Coke  defines  law  in  the  abstract  to  be  the  perfec- 
tion of  reason ;  and  although  human  laws  frequently 
fall  short  of  this  definition,  it  may  certainly  be  claimed 
to  be  true  for  the  laws  of  nature,  in  obedience  to  which, 
in  their  attempt  at  least,  works  of  human  art  are  created. 
It  follows,  therefore,  that  art  must  be  based  upon  rea- 
son, and  be  judged  by  reason  only. 

This  is  not,  however,  the  popular  belief,  which  re- 
fers art  exclusively  to  the  emotions,  and  determines 
art  analysis  and  criticism  to  be  an  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion, How  do  I  like  it  ?  It  is  glibly  asserted  that  art 
is  not  demonstrable  by  logical  deduction,  and  must  be 
Judged  by  the  emotions,  because  it  appeals  to  them 
only.  It  is,  moreover,  imagined  that  an  emotion  is  in 
no  sense  a  mental  function. 

Sensuous  perception  consumes  nerve  fibre,  and  hence 
determines  the  blood  towards  the  respective  nerve 
centres.  This  is  also  the  case  when  a  sensuous  per- 
ception  previously  had  is  recalled  by  force  of  memory, 
or  when  two  or  more  sensuous  perceptions  are  com- 
pared by  the  process  called  reflection.  The  consump- 
tion and  supply  of  nerve  matter  are  doubtless  propor- 
tional to  the  mental  effort ;  but  the  time  in  which  this 
382 


ANALYSIS. 


383 


new  nerve  matter  is  forwarded  to  the  brain  differs 
materially  in  different  mental  functions.  Now,  if  this 
time  happens  to  be  very  short,  or  the  supply  very  co- 
pious, we  perceive  the  supply  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
mental  action,  and  we  call  the  phenomenon  an  emo- 
tion ;  and  if  a  long  time  is  consumed  in  the  process, 
then  the  supply  of  new  nerve  matter  becomes  imper- 
ceptible, and  the  mental  function  gains  prominence  ; 
and  we  call  the  phenomenon  a  thought,  a  perception, 
a  recollection,  or  a  reflection.  Thus  these  various  mani- 
festations of  mental  functions  are,  in  fact,  identical 
mechanical  processes  endowed  with  different  names, 
and  all  pertain  to  a  comparison  of  matter — to  an  idea. 
Rapidity  of  mental  action  depends  upon  the  impor- 
tance and  magnitude  of  the  idea  perceived,  upon  our 
interest  in  it,  and  upon  the  method  of  perception,  and 
also  upon  the  extent  and  fulness  with  which  the 
idea  is  presented.  For  instance,  the  fact  that  metals 
differ  in  'degree  of  affinity  for  oxygen,  when  stated 
in  this  simple  form,  leaves  much  to  be  explained 
which  is  not  expressed  in  this  generalization.  To 
comprehend  the  statement  in  its  nakedness  requires  no 
marked  mental  effort,  but  the  knowledge  imparted  as 
to  the  action  of  various  metals  in  the  presence  of 
oxygen  is  as  limited  as  the  statement  is  general.  The 
immersion  of  a  copper  rod  into  a  solution  of  nitrate  of 
silver  illustrates  the  superior  affinity  of  copper  for 
oxygen  much  more  forcibly,  and  conveys  a  more  ac- 
cm"ate  idea  of  the  instability  of  nitric  acid  and  silver 
as  a  chemical  combination  in  the  presence  of  copper, 
and  the  change  of  color  going  on  in  the  fluid  illustrates 
the  superior  affinity  of  copper  for  oxygen. 

If  by  means  of  the  electric  light  we  project  upon  a 


384 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


screen  a  magnified  picture  of  the  process  by  whicli 
a  metal  is  deposited  in  a  cell  of  a  galvanic  battery, 
we  may  produce  an  illustration  of  the  above  idea,  as 
induced  by  the  superior  affinity  of  zinc  for  oxygen 
over  that  of  platinum,  for  instance,  which,  by  its  forci- 
bleness  and  rapidity  of  demonstration,  would  amount 
to  a  sensation  akin  to  an  emotion. 

Works  of  art  convey  ideas  with  the  fulness  and 
rapidity  of  this  light  picture ;  and  the  natui-e  of  the 
idea  conveyed  is  most  frequently  of  greater  human 
interest,  more  complicated  in  its  relations,  and  more 
prompt  in  its  illustration. 

It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the  sensuous 
perception  of  a  work  of  art  imparts  to  us  the  ideas  it 
represents  with  great  force  and  promptness.  Hence 
comes  the  "emotion,"  to  which  is  added  the  other 
emotion  arising  from  the  perceived  art  force. 

We  may  compare  the  means  of  fine  art  to  express 
ideas  with  promptness  and  force  to  the  transforma- 
tion of  scenes  upon  the  stage.  The  idea  is  rendered 
perfectly ;  we  are  put  in  possession  of  all  we  desire  to 
know  of  this  drawing-room  or  that  garden :  that  is,  their 
final  and  completed  appearance ;  but  Ave  have  learned 
nothing  that  will  enable  us  to  build  a  drawing-room 
or  to  plant  a  garden.  There  is  a  vast  step  from  seeing 
a  thing  as  it  is,  to  knowing  how  it  came  to  be.  The 
impression  gained  from  the  sensuous  perception  of  an 
object  is  but  an  initiatory  approach  towai'ds  a  knowl- 
edge of  it. 

Yet  it  is  popularly  believed  that  the  confused 
knowledge  of  art  is  knowledge  sufficient  to  replace 
analysis ;  and  when  men  desire  to  know  art,  or  to  teach 
others  to  know  it,  they  ask  themselves  how  they  feel 


AiSfALYSIS. 


385 


on  the  subject,  and  communicate  their  feelings  to  the 
rest  of  mankind. 

An  examination  of  the  vocabulary  of  current  archi- 
tectural criticism  will  help  to  place  this  matter  in  its 
true  light.  Architectural  work  is  here  spoken  of  as 
satisfactory,"  "  in  accordance  with  good  taste,"  "  full 
of  sentiment,"  "  pleasing,"  harmonious,"  "  effective," 
"refined,"  or  "barbarous,"  and  "brutal." 

All  these  expressions  of  approval  or  disapproval 
refer  to  the  feelings  of  the  critic,  not  to  his  reason. 

If  we  should  read  in  the  latest  number  of  a  scien- 
tific  journal  that  the  atmospheric  pressure  at  the  level 
of  the  sea  should  be  placed  at  twenty-five  pounds  per 
square  inch,  since  this  is  a  much  more  pleasant  num- 
ber to  contemplate  than  14.696,  which,  besides,  is 
inconvenient  on  account  of  its  fractional  appendix, 
and  inconsistent  with  the  beautiful  order  observed 
in  nature  ;  or  if  we  should  read  that  the  estimation 
of  the  velocity  of  light  at  192,000  miles  per  second 
is  opposed  to  cultivated  taste  and  should  be  con- 
demned as  barbarous  and  brutal  by  modern  civiliza- 
tion, more  especially  as  the  horse  may  be  accepted  as 
the  typical  representative  of  velocity  in  nature,  and  that 
its  speed  never  exceeds  twenty  miles  per  hour,  or  about 
thirty  feet  per  second — we  should  certainly  begin  to 
lose  confidence  in  science.  It  will  be  objected,  no 
doubt,  that  science  cannot  be  cited  as  a  parallel  to  art, 
the  one  being  a  matter  of  mathematical  demonstra- 
tion, and  the  other  an  emotional  element  of  human 
work.  This  is  precisely  the  error  committed  in  mod- 
ern art  analysis,  and  it  may  be  directly  traced  to  the 
fact  that  the  expression  of  emotion  and  emotional  re- 
sults are  not  accomplished  by  means  which  are  emo- 
25 


386  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


tional.  There  is  more  matliematical  consideration  in- 
volved in  the  formation  and  modelling  of  an  arch  or  a 
buttress  than  in  the  computation  of  the  atmospheric 
pressure  or  the  velocity  of  light.  And  the  true  value  of 
a  corbel  or  of  a  capital,  the  depth  and  density  of  their 
carved  ornament,  and  their  respective  treatment  in 
color  depend  upon  a  series  of  mechanical  considera- 
tions which  must  be  thoroughly  understood  by  the 
architect  before  he  can  make  these  symbolic  features 
true  works  of  art. 

The  architect's  habit  of  dealing  with  forms  as  the 
basis  of  forms  has  extended  to  the  forms  of  his  argu- 
ments, and  they  are  by  him  accepted  as  the  argument 
itself.  Mr.  Fergusson,  who  ardently  recommends  the 
abandonment  of  old  forms,  and  who,  therefore,  may  be 
cited  as  a  theoretical  opponent  of  receit^ed  forms,  in  his 
work  on  the  ^'  Philosophy  of  Beauty  in  Art,"  presents 
us  with  a  table  of  component  elements  of  various  arts 
(not  fine  arts  alone,  but  all  sorts  of  arts)  somewhat  in 
imitation  of  a  statement  of  chemical  elements  of  com- 
pound substances.  In  this  table  he  seriously  informs 
Ms  readers,  for  instance,  that  gastronomy  is  composed 
of  technics,  7  parts ;  aesthetics,  5  parts ;  and  phonetics,  0 
parts;  while  architecture  is  possessed  of  4  parts  of 
technic,  4  parts  of  aesthetic,  and  4  parts  of  phonetic 
.substance.  He  further  takes  the  liberty  of  multiplying 
the  aesthetic  elements  by  two,  and  the  phonetic  by  three, 
and  gives  the  sum  of  the  whole  as  the  art  quantity 
which  expresses  the  subject.  In  this  manner  he  arrives 
at  the  conclusion  that  gastronomy  is  made  up  of  17,  and 
architecture  of  24  art  units  ;  which  means,  probably, 
that  an  accomplished  architect  is  7-24  more  artistic  than 
;an  accomplished  cook.    He  also  explains  a  series  of 


ANALYSIS. 


387 


curves,  wMcli,  according  to  him,  represent  impondera- 
ble technic,  sesthetic,  and  phonetic  altitudes,  in  imitation 
of  the  curves  which  in  science  express  various  experi- 
mental data.  As  to  any  data  of  his  curves,  or  as  to 
any  rational  basis  of  his  table,  he  leaves  us  in  the 
dark,  and  thus  incurs  the  suspicion  that  the  whole  of 
this  scientific  sham  is  sheer  mental  aberration,  or  what 
is  probably  true,  that  the  author  imagines  a  table  of 
quantities  to  be  convincing  by  reason  of  its  form, 
rather  than  by  reason  of  the  facts  contained  in  it ; 
perhaps  that  personal  feeling  on  matters  of  art  may 
be  tabulated  as  well  as  experimental  data,  and  that 
when  so  tabulated  it  will  command  the  same  atten- 
tion in  art  which  is  conceded  to  tables  of  similar  form 
in  science. 

It  can  be  of  no  interest  to  serious  minds  in  the  pro- 
fession, or  to  lovers  of  architecture  outside  of  it,  to  in- 
quire into  the  philosophy  of  this  mathematical  mas- 
querade ;  as,  for  instance,  why  the  author  therein  con- 
tradicts his  statement  made  elsewhere,  "that  a  monu- 
ment tells  no  story,"  by  granting  to  architecture  "  four 
units  of  phonetic  quality,"  with  the  additional  privi- 
lege of  multiplying  this  quantity  by  three,  unless  it  is 
to  learn  on  what  flimsy  notions  may  be  founded  a  sci- 
entific-looking table,  or  how  little  thought  is  bestowed 
upon  statistic  arguments  relating  to  art. 

Nor  is  it  possible  to  imagine  the  aesthetic  separated, 
from  the  phonetic,  or  vice  versa.  Whenever  in  art  or 
in  nature  we  find  an  expression  of  an  idea,  there  are 
to  be  found  both  beauty  and  expression  which  com- 
plement each  other,  and  neither  of  which  can  be 
imagined  to  exist  alone.  Whenever  no  expression  of 
an  idea  is  to  be  recognized,  there  is  also  no  beauty.  All 


388 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


this  confusion  has  its  cause  in  an  imperfect  understand- 
ing of  the  meaning  of  beauty,  of  expression,  and  funda- 
mentally of  art  and  of  fine  art.  There  is  no  beauty  in 
gastronomy ;  the  author  is  evidently  confounding  the 
results  of  pleasurable  emotions  with  those  of  pleasurable 
sensations.  Gastronomy  is  not  in  any  sense  a  fine  art, 
nor  are  heating  and  ventilation,  nor  other  subjects  to  be 
found  in  this  curious  table.  The  author  tells  us  also 
that  it  is  difficult  to  determine  the  limits  of  fine  art : 
unless  these  limits,  and  the  exact  meaning  of  fine 
art  are  determined,  and  a  clear  definition  of  both  is 
obtained,  all  efforts  to  understand  art  will  be  but  a 
groping  in  the  dark,  not  an  analysis. 

Mr.  Fergusson  recommends  an  abandonment  of  all 
so-called  style  in  architecture,  and  the  initiation  of  anew 
era  wherein  we  are  to  erect  structures  to  supply  modern 
wants  without  reference  to  the  forms  of  the  past.  He 
says :  "  It  may  be  asked,  how  is  this  system  to  be 
applied  to  the  arts  "of  the  present  day  ?  One  instance 
will,  perhaps,  suffice  to  explain  what  is  meant  by  this, 
as  the  elucidation  belongs  to  the  conclusion  of  this 
work.  Supposing  some  church-building  society  were 
to  determine  to  erect  a  modern  English  church  which 
should  not  be  either  Grecian  or  Gothic,  or  indeed  any 
other  style,  but  simply  the  best  edifice  for  the  per- 
formance of  the  Anglican  Protestant  form  of  wor- 
ship. It  would  be  no  easy  matter  to  procure  in  Eng- 
land a  design  for  such  an  edifice,  but  a  good  premium 
would  produce  several  attempts.  Supposing  the  best 
chosen  and  carried  into  effect,  no  sooner  is  it  built 
than  it  is  easy  to  perceive  its  defects  ;  it  is  too  high 
or  too  long,  not  sufficiently  lighted,  or  there  is  a  glaive 
in  one  part,  and  obscurity  in  another ;  it  is  not  adapted 


ANALYSIS. 


389 


for  hearing  tlie  voice  of  the  minlstrant,  or  for  seeing 
the  service  ;  the  cornices  are  too  heavy,  the  ornament 
inappropriate,  and  so  on." 

It  may  be  observed  here  that  all  the  probable  or 
possible  defects  of  the  structure  which  present  them- 
selves to  the  mind  of  the  author,  viz. :  that  it  is  too 
high  or  too  long,  insufficiently  or  injudiciously  lighted, 
not  adapted  for  hearing  or  seeing,  inappropriately 
modelled  or  ornamented — are  elements  of  primary 
consideration  in  the  composition  of  a  plan ;  elements, 
the  nature  of  which  is  fully  within  the  limits  of  the 
technical  knowledge  of  the  architect.  The  author 
evidently  takes  it  for  granted  that  the  architect,  in 
producing  a  design,  overlooked  all  these  points,  and 
he  deems  this  not  only  pardonable  but  quite  natural — 
a  thing  to  be  expected.  It  is  clear  from  this,  also, 
that  he  has  no  idea  of  the  relation  between  these  tech- 
nical conditions  of  structure  and  its  ultimate  form — 
the  expression  of  the  monument.  He  doubtless  im- 
agines that  the  architect,  in  dealing  with  full-fledged 
forms  which  pleased  his  fancy,  has  accidentally  omitted 
the  requirements  of  the  structure,  and  that  a  design 
conceived  in  this  manner  may  still  be  a  presentable  or 
acceptable  design.  He  overlooks  the  fact  that  sound 
analysis  would  make  such  a  design  impossible,  and 
the  further  fact  that  without  due  consideration  of  all 
these  constructive  elements  no  design  could  be  arrived 
at  which  can  be  termed  a  work  of  art.  He  overlooks 
the  fact  that  architects  competent  to  solve  such  a 
problem  could  not  and  would  not  enter  upon  a  competi- 
tion, because  of  the  well  understood  incompetence  of 
the  tribunal  to  understand  the  merits  of  competitive 
designs  ;  and  also  on  account  of  the  demoralizing  influ- 


390 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


ence  inherent  in  competition ;  and  finally,  because  the 
greatest  and  most  important  j)art  of  the  work  to  be  ac- 
complished, before  the  preparation  of  the  design,  would 
of  necessity  be  the  mapping  out  of  the  ideas  which 
are  to  be  expressed.  This  could  only  be  done  well  by, 
and  mth,  the  confidential  advice  of  a  competent  archi- 
tect who  is  retained  for  the  service,  and  feels  that  lie 
has  the  right,  and  that  it  is  his  duty,  to  speak  plainly 
and  manfully  on  this  subject,  and  that  the  position 
conferred  upon  him  entitles  his  opinions  to  respect 
and  his  arguments  to  consideration. 

An  architect  who  consents  to  compete — that  is,  who 
permits  a  layman  to  decide  upon  the  merit  of  his  work, 
to  gauge  it,  correct  it,  accept  or  reject  it — has  already 
given  up  his  position  as  a  professional  man.  He 
knows  well  that  the  problem  in  the  mind  of  the  com- 
mittee is  crude,  that  each  man  already  has  some  sort 
of  an  ideal  solution  of  it  in  his  mind,  and  that  it  must 
be  impossible  to  clear  up  the  subject  by  a  personal 
effort,  for  the  reason  that  it  would  require  too  much 
time  and  too  much  instruction  to  remove  errors  and  j^rej- 
udices,  and  to  reduce  the  minds  of  the  individuals  com- 
posing a  committee  to  that  receptive  state  which  comes 
from  advanced  education.  It  would  need  additional 
time  and  an  amount  of  attention  not  to  be  expected 
from  a  committee  for  them  to  comprehend  the  principles 
involved  and  the  application  of  these  principles  to  a 
particular  case.  Practically,  it  would  not  be  prudent  to 
communicate  beforehand  the  essence  and  strength  of  a 
possible  plan,  and  thus  indirectly  to  inform  competitors. 
It  is  much  safer  to  acquiesce  in  everything  proposed, 
to  listen  to  the  views  advanced,  to  adopt  and  elabor- 
ate those  views,  whether  they  are  true  or  false  (and 


ANALYSIS. 


391 


they  are  generally  false),  to  incorporate  in  the  plan 
all  the  whims  of  the  future  owner  or  owners,  and  other- 
wise to  avoid  anything  which  may  prove  dangerous 
by  running  counter  to  the  so-called  opinions  or  ideals 
of  laymen,  which  essentially  consist  of  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  the  sum  of  the  confused  knowledge  de- 
rived from  cursory  observation  of  things  seen  every 
day  on  the  streets.  A  shrewd  practitioner,  who  must 
live,  and  yet  ho]3es  to  produce  good  work,  is  more  apt 
to  prepare  one  plan  for  adoption,  and  later,  when  he 
is  regularly  retained,  present  for  execution  another 
plan,  which,  had  it  been  first  proposed,  would  have 
never  been  adopted. 

Let  us  assume,  however,  for  the  sake  of  the  argu- 
ment, that  this  "  church-building  society  "  is  made  up 
of  wise  men,  and  that,  instead  of  placing  themselves  at 
the  head  of  an  art  enterprise,  they  employ  as  their  pro- 
fessional adviser  an  architect  of  reputation,  lay  be- 
fore him  their  wishes,  and  give  him  the  requisite  time 
to  compose  "a  design  for  an  Anglican  church,"  which 
shall  not  be  of  any  style  whatever,  but  a  true,  original 
poem  in  architecture.  Such  an  architect  would,  no 
doubt,  after  serious  reflection,  address  this  society  some- 
what in  this  wise :  "  It  is  true  that  of  late  architecture 
has  ceased  to  be  a  living  art.  It  imitates  the  forms  of 
the  past,  and  these  forms  do  not  express  the  ideas  of  the 
present  time  ;  but  you  will  be  good  enough  to  remem- 
ber that  our  archaeological  museum  is,  after  all,  a  collec- 
tion of  forms  which  meant  something  at  some  time. 
If  it  is  your  wish  that  I  should  produce  a  design  of  a 
monument  which  is  to  commemorate  the  Anglican 
Church,  it  would  be  well  that  you  and  I  arrive  at  a 
clear  understanding  of  the  ideas  which  have  created 


392  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


thac  Cliurcli,  and  whicli  are  to-day  its  main  stay  and 
foundation.  More  than  this,  art  is  not  capable  Ox  de- 
monstrating or  representing  ideas  in  their  abstract 
form.  All;  can  only  represent  emotions  which  are  the 
result  of  acts,  which  acts  illustrate  the  ideas  ;  and  the 
question  mainly  to  be  answered  is,  '  What  are  the  par- 
ticular acts  which  pertain  to  the  service  of  the  Angli- 
can Church;  wherein  do  they  differ  from  the  acts  per- 
formed in  the  Christian  churches  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  or  from  the  acts  performed  in  Grecian  tem- 
ples ? '  On  examining  what  I  know  of  this  matter,"  he 
will  say,  "  it  appears  to  me  that  the  original  tendency  of 
our  Church,  immediately  after  the  Reformation,  was  a 
decided  opposition  to  many  acts  of  worship  and  of 
Church  service  ;  but  that,  subsequently,  the  Church  has 
become  divided  into  parties,  one  of  which  regrets  that 
the  Church  has  gone  too  far  in  this  direction,  and  the 
other  affirms  that  true  progress  requires  that  we  should 
go  still  further.  It  does  not  appear  that  the  Church  has 
ever  adduced  reasons  against  the  performance  of  these 
acts,  or  that  it  has  denounced  them  as  contrary  to  its  arti- 
cles of  faith,  but  only  that  they  have  been  condemned 
as  visibly  emblematic  of  a  Church  against  the  practices 
of  which  we  protested.  It  further  appears  that  this 
very  protest  is  the  main  foundation  of  our  Church ; 
but  a  protest  is  not  a  positive  idea  upon  which  we  may 
base  acts  or  emotions,  and  hence  also  not  monuments. 
Monuments  can  be  the  result  only  of  positive  ideas.* 

*  In  addition  to  this,  the  Church  has  drifted  into  a  position  on  this  vital 
question  which  is  anomalous,  inconsistent  with  its  own  professions,  and  sub- 
versive of  its  functions  as  the  interpreter  of  its  metaphysical  views  and 
rules  of  conduct. 

We  have  now  arrived  at  a  point  where  we  deny  the  right  of  churchmen  to 
perform  certain  acts  which  we  admit  to  be  harmless  in  themselves,  but 


ANALYSIS. 


393 


"  You  ask  what  is  to  be  done  ?  I  answer  that  acts  of 
the  Church,  theological  ideas,  dogmaj  religious  princi- 
ples must  be  determined  by  the  Church  itself ;  that 
while  it  is  my  duty  to  study  religious  ideas  firmly  es- 
tablished and  laid  before  me,  in  order  that  I  may  ex- 
press them  in  a  monument,  it  is  also  my  duty  to  accept 
these  ideas  as  true  without  questioning  them,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  metaphysical  and  ethical  relations, 
as  expressed  in  systems  of  faith,  must  of  necessity  be 
approximations  to  truth  and  not  absolute  truth,  partly 
because  of  the  imperfections  of  the  human  intellect, 
which  may  in  this  direction  never  reach  a  positive 
solution;  partly  because,  if  individual  minds  could 
attain  to  such  a  solution,  it  could  not  be  imparted  to 
the  mass  of  men  so  that  they  could  comprehend  it ; 
and  finally,  because  if  universally  comprehended  (were 
such  a  thing  possible,  as  it  is  not),  then  religion  would 
not  need  the  help  of  art  any  more  than  art  is  needed 
now  in  behalf  of  the  multiplication  table. 

"While,  therefore,  I  hold  myself  in  readiness  to 
study  the  positive  ideas  which  the  Church  determines, 
to  assist  in  a  poetical  grouping  of  worshippers  who 
are  to  illustrate  these  ideas  by  acts,  and  to  resolve  the 

which  we  oppose  as  the  special  acts  of  the  Eoman  Catholic  Church,  while 
in  theory  we  claim  to  be  the  true  Christian  Church,  which  canno.t  be 
affected  by  anything  said  or  done  by  any  one  outside  of  it.  We  tacitly 
admit  that  all  acts  of  devotion  are,  if  not  quite  idolatrous,  at  least  per- 
fectly unnecessary  ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  the  views  and  dogmas  of  the 
Church  are,  in  the  main,  demonstrable  without  resorting  to  the  efforts  of 
art.  This  theory  is  not  avowed  by  many  ;  in  fact  it  is  opposed  by  able  and 
earnest  leaders  of  our  Church,  yet  all  our  practical  efforts  tend  in  that  direc- 
tion, and  are  partly  the  result  of  zeal  to  confirm  our  protest,  and  partly  of 
the  mistaken  notion  that  the  Reformation  has  transferred  Christianity  from 
the  realm  of  the  confused  knowledge  imparted  by  art,  to  that  of  the  positive 
knowledge  of  philosophy.  If  this  were  true  in  any  sense,  churches  would 
become  not  only  superfluous,  but  impossible  as  architectural  monuments. 


394 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


emotions  wMcli  are  the  result  of  these  acts,  I  must 
content  myseK  by  laying  down  a  few  general  princi- 
ples, wliicli  perhaps  will  help  you  in  your  very  neces- 
sary work,  which  has  now  become  an  urgent  work,  for 
it  has  been  neglected  since  the  days  of  the  Reforma- 
tion. 

"Ideas  are  a  relation  of  matter,  and  matter  is  to  man 
a  subjective  perception  of  it,  and  no  more.  Subjective 
relation  to  the  matter  observed,  or,  in  other  words,  our 
standpoint  in  relation  to  matter,  as  well  as  subjective 
sensuous  force  (ability  to  see,  and  hear,  and  feel,  with 
greater  or  less  accuracy),  must  always  be  elements  in 
subjective  perception.  What  is  true  of  sensuous  per- 
ception of  matter  is  also  true  of  that  secondary  per- 
ception of  the  relation  of  matter  which  w^e  call  the 
intellectual  perception  of  a  metaphysical  idea.  If  you 
place  a  man  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  and  point  out 
to  him  at  a  great  distance  a  milestone,  and  say  to  him 
that  the  milestone  is  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  cot- 
tage in  which  you  were  born,  and  that  both  are  ten  miles 
away,  he  will  not  be  able  to  follow  you,  for  he  has 
not  the  eyes  of  a  hawk  or  an  eagle.  What  must  you 
do  to  help  him  ?  You  can  do  one  of  two  things : 
supply  him  mth  a  good  telescope,  or  point  to  a  church 
steeple  about  a  mile  or  two  away  from  the  point  you 
wish  to  designate,  which  is  near  enough  to  answer  his 
purpose.  In  this  way  the  Church  is  the  judge  of  the 
point  of  view  of  the  parishioner,  as  well  as  of  the  ab- 
stract idea  it  desires  to  impart  to  him,  and  hence  of 
the  form  the  idea  must  assume  for  the  time  being ;  for 
it  must  be  remembered  that  the  parishioner  is  not 
standing  still,  but  is  moving — moving  more  than  you 
think  he  is,  judging  of  it  from  your  own  point  of 


ANALYSIS. 


895 


view,  and  mucli  less  tlian  lie  thinks  he  is,  judging  from 
his  personal  exertion.  Permit  me  also  to  anticipate 
an  objection  which  at  this  point  will  agitate  your 
mind,  viz. :  Religion  is  abstract  truth,  fixed,  unchange- 
able, and  what  is  here  suggested  implies  the  opposite. 
Not  at  all ;  the  milestone  is  there  whether  you  can 
or  cannot  see  it,  always  the  same — ^immovable.  The 
church  steeple  is  only  a  means  by  which  to  fix  its 
situation.  Another  further  off  or  nearer  by  would 
answer  the  purpose  as  well. 

"  The  Church  of  to-day  does  not  mean  the  worship 
of  saints,  but  it  doubtless  means  the  worship  of  God, 
This  is  a  relation  of  man  to  God.  The  true  defini- 
tion of  God  is  to  be  found  only  in  his  creation,  which 
includes  man,  and  the  creations  of  man  known  as  fine 
art,  which  speak  of  man's  thoughts — of  his  ideas  of 
God.  In  these  works  of  human  art,  and  in  the  works 
of  nature,  we  nowhere  find  an  absolute  definition  of 
God,  but  we  everywhere  find  a  partial  exposition  of 
him,  and  the  sum  total  of  these  partial  expositions  is 
all  we  can  ever  know  of  Him.  Hence  we  need  a  con- 
tinuous relation  with  works  of  nature  and  art ;  but  in- 
asmuch as  we  cannot  all  equally  understand  what  is 
offered  to  us  by  creation  and  re-creation  in  this  way, 
and  inasmuch  as  all  of  this  is  not  accessible  to  us,  we 
find  among  other  creations  of  God  the  Church,  which 
has  taken  upon  herself  the  duty  of  placing  before  us 
such  works  of  nature  and  art  as  she  deems  most  con- 
ducive to  our  physical  welfare  and  spiritual  education, 
and  she  has  nobly  fulfilled  this  function  through  all 
time.  We  are  her  children,  and  she,  our  indulgent 
mother,  teaches  us  the  place  we  occupy  in  this  uni- 
verse ;  she  it  is  who  tells  us  of  our  relations  to  God 


396  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTVRE. 


and  to  his  creation,  and  it  is  her  privilege  to  teach  us 
in  her  own  way.  She  has  used  this  privilege  by 
changing  her  methods  as  we  grow  in  knowledge. 

"  The  Church  is  now  undergoing  a  change  of  method. 
Is  she  of  the  opinion  that  she  has  taught  too  much, 
and  will  now  content  herseK  with  teaching  less  ?  She 
never  can  do  too  much  teaching,  but  she  may  and  she 
did  teach  on  the  same  system  too  long ;  and  while  she 
is  considering  her  methods  and  her  means,  some  of  us 
have  gone  out  into  the  world  and  learned  something 
by  ourselves,  and  all  of  us  imagine  we  could  do  the 
same  thing  if  we  should  only  try ;  many  of  us  have 
tried  and  have  made  sad  work  of  this  se  If-instruction  ; 
we  have  gathered  but  little  learning  and  much  con- 
ceit,  and  it  is  high  time  now  that  the  Church  resume 
her  position.  Of  course  her  methods  of  enforcing 
obedience  will  be  changed,  and  her  methods  of  instruc- 
tion will  be  changed  also.  We  may  not  learn  so  much 
by  rote,  and  more  by  instruction  ;  we  need  more  pic- 
tures by  way  of  illustration,  and  as  the  Church  thinks 
the  old  ones  useless  and  worn  out,  we  will  have  new 
ones.  Perhaps  these  new  pictures  mil  hereafter  have 
to  be  changed  oftener  than  they  have  been  heretofore." 

This,  or  something  like  this,  is  the  manly  talk  of  the 
architect  who  has  mastered  his  profession  and  will  not 
present  designs  for  the  judgment  of  laymen.  The 
first  good  result  would  undoubtedly  be  a  request  on 
the  part  of  this  model  society  to  be  allowed  some  time 
for  further  serious  consideration ;  perhaps,  also,  a  re- 
quest on  the  part  of  the  rector  that  the  architect 
should  put  all  this  in  writing  that  it  may  be  laid  be- 
fore the  bishop,  and  a  resolution  that  another  meeting 
should  be  held  for  further  consultation  upon  the  sub- 


ANALYSIS, 


397 


ject.  Of  what  value  to  architecture  a  continued  series 
of  such  meetings  might  be,  of  what  interest  to  the 
Church,  may  best  be  judged  by  those  who  are  profes- 
sionally related  to  either;  that  some  such  process 
must  precede  the  designing  of  plans  and  the  building 
of  a  modern  church  is  quite  certain,  if  it  is  not  to  be 
a  failure  which  will  deter  other  men  from  repeating 
the  attempt. 

Exactly  what  the  Church  will  do  in  these  premises 
must  be  determined  by  herself.  She  will  have  to  con- 
tend with  the  prejudices,  selfishness,  and  want  of  cour- 
age of  her  own  members ;  she  will  have  to  oppose 
those  who  in  Church  matters  are  working  in  styles  and 
are  running  in  grooves.  Yet  times  were  never  more 
propitious  than  the  present  for  a  change  in  the  right 
direction.  "What  the  Church  should  do,  it  would  be 
presumptuous  in  us  to  suggest ;  that  the  Church  will 
think  of  this  matter,  and  act  upon  it  too,  there  can  be 
no  moral  doubt. 

What  the  architect  will  have  to  do  when  all  this  is 
in  a  fair  way  of  settlement  is  a  proper  subject  for  dis- 
cussion here.  We  may  assert  boldly  that  he  will 
spend  no  time  in  useless  discourse  about  taste^  feeling^ 
and  style ;  nor  on  the  refinement  of  the  Greeks  and 
the  spiritualism  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

Will  he  profit  by  the  experience  of  the  Past  ?  Are 
the  efforts  of  sixty  centuries  of  no  account  whatever  ? 
Or  may  they  help  him  in  his  future  work?  The 
author  of  the  "  Philosophy  of  Beauty  "  speaks  of  this  ; 
let  us  see  what  hope  and  advice  we  can  gather  from 
his  prophecy.    He  says  : 

"  Or  again  it  may  be  asked,  if  I  propose  to  throw 
over  all  precedent  and  to  abandon  at  once  all  Grecian 


398 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


pillars,  and  Gothic  pinnacles,  and  all  the  classical 
and  mediaeval  details  which  now  make  np  the  stock 
in  trade  of  an  architect,  what  would  I  propose  to 
substitute  in  their  place  ?  The  answer  is  a  simple 
though  scarcely  a  satisfactory  one,  as  it  is  merely — 
^  I  don't  know.'  But  if  any  one  reflects  a  moment,  he 
will  see  that  it  is  impossible  that  I  or  any  one  else 
should  know  without  at  least  the  gift  of  prophecy, 
for  the  very  essence  of  the  progress  is  its  procession 
towards  something  we  do  not  now  see,  and  the  essence 
of  invention  is  finding  out  what  we  do  not  know  and 
what  could  not  be  before  kno^vn." 

His  answer  is — "  I  do  not  know  ;  "  it  is  the  princi- 
pal piece  of  information  to  be  gathered  from  the  art 
philosopy  contained  in  his  book.  The  true  beginning 
of  all  knowledge  is  this,  "  I  do  not  know  ; "  and  how 
natural  and  candid  it  is  in  the  man  of  forms  to  say, 
"  when  all  these  forms  of  the  past,  which  now  are  the 
stock  in  trade  of  the  architect  who  works  in  styles  are 
thrown  aside,  what  do  I  propose  to  substitute  in  their 
places — '  I  do  not  know,  how  can  any  one  else  ? ' " 

Now  it  so  happens  that  this  last  question,  "  How 
can  any  one  else  ? "  may  be  answered  satisfactorily. 
The  future  may  be  judged  by  the  past,  for  indeed  the 
past  had  a  future  which  has  now  become  a  past  to  us, 
and  we  may  see  it  clearly  and  appeal  to  it  for  infor- 
mation. The  Eomans  did  not  throw  away  Greek 
forms,  nor  did  the  architects  of  the  Christian  era 
throw  away  the  forms  of  the  mythological  past.  The 
only  set  of  men  who  ever  did  throw  away  anything 
that  is  valued  in  the  past  history  of  art  were  the  ar- 
chitects of  the  Kenaissance,  who  initiated  the  system 
of  copying  forms  mthout  reflecting  on  their  meaning, 


ANALYSIS. 


899 


and  who  never  did  discover  or  care  for  the  principles 
or  ideas  which  are  the  cause  of  forms.  On  encounter- 
ing a  form  which  did  not  please  them  they  cast  it 
aside,  and  with  it  the  thought  it  concealed ;  and  when 
a  form  pleased  them  they  accepted  the  form  and  dis- 
carded the  thought  all  the  same.  But  when  they 
were  to  supply  us  with  the  new  forms  which  they  had 
promised,  they  searched  for  them  in  vain  in  their  im- 
agination, as  the  only  available  source  of  a  new  sup- 
ply, because  their  minds  lacked  the  very  ideas  and 
the  knowledge  which  they  had  rejected ;  and  as  Mr. 
Fergusson  looks  forward  to  the  future  for  the  inven- 
tion of  new  forms,  he  truly  says  I  cannot  know  them. 

Forms,  fortunately  for  us,  are  not  invented;  they 
grow,  if  we  will  only  permit  them  to  do  so — provided 
we  cultivate  and  irrigate  the  soil.  The  forms  of  the 
future  must  be  the  modified  forms  of  the  past,  the 
modifications  being  due  to  construction  and  material, 
and  progress  in  understanding  both.  Modifications 
of  this  kind  in  art  are  of  comparatively  slow  growth, 
like  that  of  natural  organisms  as  determined  by  envi- 
ronment. But  we  are  living  in  an  exceptional  age, 
when  considered  in  the  interest  of  architectural  art. 
Centuries  have  been  permitted  to  pass  without  the 
architect  giving  any  heed  to  the  progress  of  ideas,  to 
the  acts  illustrating  them,  to  the  resulting  emotions, 
or  to  the  progress  of  the  science  of  construction  and 
its  relation  to  art.  A  prompt  and  intelligent  recog- 
nition of  the  environment  of  architectural  forms  may 
lead  to  vast  and  rapid  strides  in  their  modification; 
so  rapid,  indeed,  that  to  the  superficial  observer  that 
modification  will  seem  absolute  change. 

But  we  cannot  be  assisted  in  this  labor  by  human 


400  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


invention  or  by  human  taste.  Both  of  these  over- 
rated human  faculties  point  to  completed  forms,  while 
in  art,  as  in  nature,  forms  must  grow  to  be  of  value. 
Knowledge  of  ideas,  of  emotions,  of  technical  methods 
which  represent  them  in  matter,  positive  and  clear 
knowledge  alone,  creates  a  judgment  which  leads  to 
the  development  of  art  forms,  which  are  ideal  organ- 
isms created  in  imitation  of  nature,  which,  in  archi- 
tecture and  in  music,  always  means  an  imitation  of  na- 
ture's laws. 

The  prevalent  vocabulary  of  art  analysis,  which  re- 
fers to  feeling  and  taste  as  sole  arbiters  of  art,  must 
be  abandoned,  and  art  logic  must  be  subjected  to  the 
same  tests  which  govern  the  sciences  and  mathematics. 
Analysis  of  a  monument  concerns  itself  first  with  the 
ideas,  acts,  and  emotions  of  its  future  occupants.  The 
grouping  of  the  occupants  of  a  structure  being  de- 
termined, the  spaces  containing  these  groups  may  be 
analysed.  Most  modern  monuments  will  be  found  to 
demand  cells  of  considerable  magnitude,  the  interior 
roofing  of  which  becomes  a  serious  question  of  aesthetic 
development  and  of  practical  construction. 

The  most  dignified  method  of  dealing  with  the  roof 
of  a  monument,  say  a  church,  a  room  for  deliberative 
assemblies,  or  a  court-room,  is  to  construct  brick  or 
stone  vaultings,  of  which  mediaeval  architecture  affords 
endless  experiments  already  made  to  our  hands,  many 
of  which  are  eminently  successful. 

The  span  of  an  arch  is  limited  by  considerations  of 
economy  of  space,  material  and  labor,  and  hence  we 
find  them  in  mediaeval  work  confined  to  moderate  di- 
mensions by  the  introduction  of  interior  piers  or  col- 
umns.   Modem  utilitarianism  objects  to  any  interrup- 


ANALYSIS. 


401 


tion  of  a  free  and  full  view  of  any  and  all  parts  of 
the  interior  of  a  room.  It  asserts  tliat  an  audience 
should  not  only  be  able  to  see  the  s]3eaker  or  per- 
former, but  that  the  individuals  composing  it  should 
see  each  other,  and  that  this  desire  must  be  gratified. 
It  asks  with  a  triumphant  air  whether  modern  engineer- 
ing does  not  provide  for  the  construction  of  roofs  of 
any  span,  and  if  it  be  not  economical  to  construct  such 
a  roof  of  stone,  why  should  it  not  be  constructed  of 
wood  or  iron  ?  The  truth  is,  that  a  congregation  of 
men  and  women  spread  equally  like  a  plaster  over  in- 
definite space  is  not  a  picture  worth  seeing ;  in  fact,  it 
is  not  a  picture  at  all ;  it  has  neither  foreground,  mid- 
dle-ground, nor  background.  The  dignity  of  the  possi- 
ble man  or  woman,  brought  out  in  bold  relief  in  a 
foreground  limited  by  some  structural  feature,  is  lost 
in  a  sea  of  bonnets  and  hats,  or  of  chignons,  and  of 
closely-cropped  craniums.  The  individual  man  is  no- 
where to  be  found ;  there  is  no  index  of  what  the  mass 
before  us  is  composed  of.  A  structure  with  emptiness 
as  its  chief  excellence  cannot,  by  any  human  contrivance, 
be  made  to  express  an  idea  in  matter.  The  modern 
railroad  station  is  a  striking  example.  Posts,  columns, 
or  piers  cannot,  possibly,  in  such  a  structure,  intercept 
anything  worth  seeing.  There  is  everywhere  an  abun- 
dance of  space  for  these  between  the  tracks.  Economy 
of  labor  and  material  certainly  demand  their  use,  yet 
most  of  these  structures  are  covered  with  curved  trusses 
of  iron,  supported  by  the  outer  walls,  with  spans  of  two 
or  three  hundred  feet. 

The  temptation  to  do  this  may  be  found  in  the  love 
of  displaying  a  mechanical  effort,  which  by  the  use  of 
rolled  and  cast  iron  has  but  recently  become  possible. 
26 


402  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


Its  ugliness  will  soon  be  apparent,  and  these  exaggerated 
green-houses  will  be  built  no  more.  Here  we  must  re- 
member the  tact  and  good  sense  displayed  by  Sir  Joseph 
Paxton  in  the  erection  of  the  Prince  Albert  Exhibi- 
tion  building.  He  indulged  in  no  such  engineering 
flights,  but  remembered  the  law  that  all  trusses  of  the 
same  material  and  form  are  strong  inversely  as  their 
length  when  loaded  with  the  same  weight  per  foot, 
and  that  the  sum  of  the  area  of  all  the  columns  sup- 
porting a  given  perpendicular  load  or  pressure  is  inde- 
pendent of  their  number  (certain  relations  of  length 
and  diameter  excepted).  Here,  again,  we  need  not 
to  seek  beyond  experience  in  the  past  for  a  sound  so 
lution  of  the  problem.  Where  an  absolutely  unin- 
terrupted space  becomes  a  necessity  in  the  interior  of 
a  structure,  or  single  cell  forming  a  part  of  a  structure, 
as,  for  instance,  in  a  deliberative  assembly  or  court- 
room, the  transept  is  a  form  which  permits  of  a  large 
open  area,  the  piers  supporting  the  central  vault  being 
in  fact,  and  of  necessity,  placed  outside  of  the  assem- 
bled audience. 

But  the  construction  of  vaulted  roofs,  as  developed 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  may  be  considered  as  a  mere  em- 
pirical experiment  when  compared  with  vaulting  made 
possible  by  the  progress  of  science.  The  circle  and  the 
ellipse  (its  resultant  in  groined  arching)  demand  ideal 
loads  to  bring  the  line  of  pressure  in  the  centre  of 
their  voussoirs — loads,  which  differ  materially  from  the 
actual  loads  needed  for  their  construction.  The  lines 
of  pressures  themselves,  if  scientifically  applied,  vdW. 
not  only  lead  to  new  and  more  expressive  forms,  to  a 
variety  of  line  in  the  cappings  and  ribs,  to  new  meth- 
ods of  modelling  and  decoration,  but  also  to  a  con- 


ANALYSIS, 


403 


struction  of  greater  raagnitude,  witliout  a  proportional 
increase  of  material,  both  in  the  vaulting  itself  and  in 
the  abutments.  It  needs  no  bold  flight  of  the  im- 
agination to  predict  that  the  elegance  of  the  cathedral 
roofs  of  the  thirteenth  century  will  in  time  be  super- 
seded by  vaulting,  in  comparison  with  which  the 
former  will  appear  a  mere  clumsy  contrivance.  The 
theory  for  doing  this  work  is  fully  and  clearly  in  our 
possession.  We  positively  know  how  it  can  be  ac- 
complished practically.  The  opportunities  for  doing 
it  are  multiplying  every  day,  and  all  it  needs  is  the 
conviction  that  the  pursuit  of  such  a  system  will 
develop  a  new  architecture,  which,  in  its  elegance 
and  boldness,  will  far  exceed  the  works  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  Nor  is  the  labor  of  modelling  these  novel  masses 
beyond  the  power  of  the  architect,  if  he  will  only  ab- 
stain from  reverting  to  old  forms. 

The  open-timber  roof  is  a  legitimate  construction 
where  economy  permits  nothing  better.  The  prevail- 
ing vice  in  the  treatment  of  this  part  of  structure  in 
wood  is  the  introduction  of  arched  pieces.  It  should 
be  remembered  that  a  structural  support,  mechanically 
considered,  can  be  a  continuous  curve  only  when  every 
point  of  the  extrados  is  loaded. 

When,  however,  loads  are  imposed  in  isolated 
points,  the  line  of  resistance  becomes  a  polygon,  the 
sides  of  which  intersect  at  the  points  so  loaded,  and 
if  a  curved  piece  of  wood  is  introduced  to  take  the 
place  of  such  a  polygon,  it  should  contain  this  polygon 
within  its  boundaries.  The  reason  for  introducing 
arched  timbers  is  sometimes  the  mistaken  notion  that 
an  arch  under  all  circumstances  is  the  strongest  form 
that  can  be  given  to  any  material,  no  matter  how  a 


404 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


load  may  be  placed  upon  it ;  or  else  it  is  a  mere  love 
for  curved  lines  under  the  impression  that  curved 
lines  are  beautiful  in  the  abstract.  It  is  true,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  any  construction  which  does  not  in 
the  most  direct  manner  perform  the  work  it  is  intended 
to  do,  becomes  an  element  of  weakness  perceptible  to 
every  one,  although  the  reason  why  it  is  so  may  not 
be  so  apparent. 

A  drawing  of  one  pier  of  a  monument,  with  its  super- 
incumbent load  of  wall  and  of  arched  or  open  roof, 
mathematically  considered  and  carefully  modelled,  so 
that  the  members  of  the  stmctural  parts  above  are 
represented  in  the  simpler  members  of  the  supports 
below,  the  latter  always  being  of  sufficient  area  to 
comprise  the  former  within  themselves,  as  the  trunk 
of  a  tree  equals  the  sum  of  the  area  of  all  its  branches, 
forms  the  key-note  of  the  most  complicated  monument, 
and  contains  in  its  dimensions  the  elements  of  propor- 
tion of  the  masses  which  are  needed  to  make  the  mon- 
ument a  work  of  art  in  imitation  of  nature. 

The  next  step  in  the  analysis  of  a  projected  monu- 
ment is  the  contemplation  of  every  cell  pertaining  to 
it  as  a  separate  design.  The  course  ordinarily  pursued 
is  the  reverse  of  this.  The  architect  forms  in  the  out- 
set an  imaginary  picture  of  the  whole  monument,  and 
subsequently  apportions  parts  of  this  whole  to  the  sep- 
arate cells.  In  the  minds  of  architects  who  proceed 
in  this  way,  the  exterior  of  a  monument  conforms  to  a 
certain  imagined  ideal  modified  by  the  configuration 
of  the  ground  upon  which  it  is  to  be  erected.  In  fact, 
the  design  of  the  monument  should  precede  the  selec- 
tion of  the  site,  while  the  general  form  (the  exterior 
of  the  monument)  should  accrue  from  a  judicious 


ANALYSIS, 


405 


grouping  of  its  single  cells  after  they  have  been  sep- 
arately studied  and  matured.  This  is  not  to  imply 
that  no  modification  of  the  form  of  the  single  cell 
is  permissible  after  it  has  been  separately  designed. 
Such  modifications  become  necessary  by  reason  of  a 
relation  with  adjoining  cells ;  but  the  full  import  of 
every  cell  must  have  been  mastered  before  such  a  re- 
lation and  connection  is  attempted.  In  short,  the 
monument,  to  be  a  work  of  fine  art,  must  be  an  aggre- 
gation of  single  cells,  each  of  which  is  a  complete  or- 
ganism in  itself,  and  should  not  be  an  imagined  whole 
to  be  subsequently  divided  into  compartments. 

Inasmuch  as  single  cells  do  not  always  need  to  be 
lighted  from  all  sides,  the  dead  wall  of  such  a  cell  of 
necessity  becomes  at  times  a  part  of  the  exterior  of  a 
monument.  This  is  not  to  be  regretted.  A  bit  of 
uninterrupted  masonry  is  a  great  benefit  to  a  design ; 
it  speaks  forcibly,  and  helps  to  tell  a  story.  The 
habit  of  modern  architects  of  laying  down  arbitrary 
outlines  of  a  structure  before  considering  its  single 
cells,  is  often  the  cause  of  piercing  an  outer  wall  with 
many  and  large  windows.  The  mass  of  the  wall  is 
nowhere  felt.  The  truth  is,  we  do  not  build  walls 
pierced  with  windows,  but  design  endless  windows  sur- 
rounded with  the  least  modicum  of  wall  that  is  neces- 
sary to  sustain  the  fabric.  This  habit  has  developed 
in  the  modern  architect  a  dread  of  wall  space  which  is 
greatly  detrimental  to  art. 

It  happens,  however,  from  time  to  time,  that  the 
openings  in  parts  of  a  structure  have  to  be  greatly 
multiplied.  The  constructive  necessity  of  a  wall  so 
pierced  leads  to  a  greater  thickness  of  wall  than  would 
be  needed  if  piers  between  openings  could  be  made 


406 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


broader.  Tbe  sestlietic  necessity  of  such  a  wall  runs 
precisely  in  tbe  same  direction.  Its  thickness  must 
be  expressed  by  a  visibly  greater  depth  of  window- 
jamb. 

The  division  of  single  cells  into  bays  demands 
analytical  consideration  at  the  bands  of  the  architect. 
The  greater  the  number  of  bays,  the  more  slender  and 
elegant  becomes  the  form  of  the  piers,  and  the  greater 
the  apparent  depth  of  the  single  cell  both  in  the  in- 
terior and  exterior. 

The  mediaeval  cathedrals  are  greatly  admired  for 
this  characteristic  arrangement.  Yet  as  the  degree  of 
elegance  to  be  attained  depends  upon  the  idea  repre- 
sented in  a  monument,  it  is  desirable  to  modify  fea- 
tures *of  this  kind  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of 
the  idea. 

In  secular  structures,  where  the  grouping  of  the 
openings  takes  the  place  of  a  marked  division  into 
bays,  the  same  law  is  to  be  observed. 

It  is  frequently  desirable  to  light  single  cells  of 
great  altitude  by  two  and  even  three  tiers  of  ^dndows. 
Interior  galleries  suggest  themselves  as  a  constructive 
reason  for  such  an  arrangement,  but  the  projier  illumi- 
nation of  the  interior  very  often  demands  it  without 
the  presence  of  any  constructive  cause. 

It  is  necessary,  in  this  case,  to  indicate  externally  a 
relationship  between  these  two  tiers  of  windows.  The 
fact  must  be  made  patent  that  there  is  but  one  stoiy,  but 
one  single  cell.  Sill  courses  of  the  upper  tier  of  Avin- 
dows  should  be  subordinated  in  magnitude  and  projec- 
tion to  other  sill  or  belting  courses,  which  elsewhere 
in  the  same  structure  express  a  division  of  stories. 
The  windows  of  the  upper  tier  may  be  wider  than 


ANALYSIS. 


407 


those  of  tlie  lower  tier,  or  its  windows  may  be  couplets 
over  eveiy  single  window  below,  or  they  may  be  ar- 
ranged in  a  continuous  group  extending  through  the 
whole  length  of  the  cell. 

No  attempt  to  join  the  upper  and  lower  openings 
under  one  arch  will  successfully  express  the  true 
stmctural  relation  in  such  a  cell.  That  the  openings 
of  two  or  more  stories  cannot  be  joined  together  in 
this  manner  is  self-evident. 

The  thickness  of  walls  and  piers  constitutes  an  ele- 
ment, and  hence  an  expression  of  strength,  as  well  as 
their  v\^idth.  To  make  the  thickness  apparent,  the 
doors  and  windows  should  not  be  placed  on  the  out- 
side, but  in  the  middle  of  the  wall,  a  practice  not  ob- 
served in  modern  structures. 

During  the  decadence  of  mediaeval  and  the  rise 
and  progress  of  Renaissance  architecture,  innumerable 
false  structural  forms  and  the  misapplication  of  true 
forms  became  current  in  architectural  practice,  such  as 
gables  which  do  not  meet  at  the  apex,  double-curved 
arches  and  flying-buttresses,  gables  designed  as  inde- 
j)endent  structures  worked  in  bas-relief  upon  the  main 
wall,  and  key-stones  unwarranted  by  the  pressure  im- 
posed upon  arches  in  the  face  of  walls.  That  a  gable 
which  has  no  apex  is  ugly,  because  it  fails  to  perform 
its  function,  is  apparent  without  further  reflection ; 
but  to  convince  the  architect  that  the  same  is  true  in 
the  case  of  double-curved  arches  and  flying-buttresses 
needs  a  computation  of  their  moment  of  resistance. 
Such  a  computation  will  in  all  cases  protect  him  from 
the  vagaries  of  his  fancy,  and  will  not  only  show  what 
forms  are  ugly,  but  also  those  which  are  indifferent, 
good,  or  brilliant. 


408 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


Modelling,  carved  and  color  decoration,  accentuate 
the  construction.  They  demonstrate  function.  If  the 
construction  of  a  monument  is  good  or  brilliant, 
modelling  and  decoration  make  this  more  apparent;  if 
the  construction  is  bad  or  indiif erent  this  is  also  accen- 
tuated by  modelling  and  decoration. 

It  is  very  desirable,  therefore,  that  no  modelling  or 
decoration  should  be  entered  upon  in  composition  un- 
til the  construction  is  fully  developed.  It  would  be 
of  great  benefit  to  architectural  composition  to  pre- 
23are  a  full  set  of  drawings  of  every  proposed  monu- 
ment upon  which  not  a  single  moulding  or  ornament  is 
to  be  seen,  nothing  but  bare  constructive  masses.  The 
common  practice  is  the  reverse  of  this.  The  architect 
begins  his  sketch  by  filling  it  up  with  modelled  and 
decorative  work.  He  is  misled  by  its  pleasing  effects 
into  the  belief  that  the  structure  he  is  designing  will 
be  a  work  of  architectural  art,  while  he  is  in  fact  en- 
gaged in  hiding  its  ugliness  from  himself.  Where 
great  masses  seem  to  crush  attenuated  supports,  in- 
stead of  inquiring  whether  these  masses  should  not  be 
reduced,  or,  what  is  more  frequently  needed,  the  piers 
strengthened,  he  partially  covers  the  masses  ^\dth  orna- 
ment, under  the  mistaken  notion  that  they  are  thereby 
reduced  in  quantity.  When,  for  reasons  of  economy, 
decoration  cannot  be  indulged  in  to  the  extent  to 
which  the  author  of  a  design  would  like  to  carr}-  it, 
he  often  inordinately  enlarges  his  openings  to  annihi- 
late the  masses  surrounding  them.  Practices  of  this 
sort  are  habitually  carried  to  such  an  extent  that 
the  architect  begins  to  look  upon  a  design  as  an  aggre- 
gation of  ornament,  and  not  as  a  mechanical  structure 
of  masses  of  masonry. 


ANALYSIS. 


409 


It  may  be  questioned  wlietlier  it  would  not  be  best 
to  reserve  all  modelling  and  decoration  for  tbe  detail 
drawings,  and  not  introduce  either  in  the  general  de- 
sign of  a  monument.  By  the  present  practice  of  com- 
pleting drawings  through  the  introduction  of  all  detail, 
composition  has  ceased  to  be  a  process  of  reasoning, 
and  has  become  a  matter  of  feeling,  and  this  feeling  in 
most  cases  proves  to  be  a  delusion.  It  is  the  experi- 
ence of  practicing  architects  that  the  excellence  of 
their  work  depends  upon  constructional  perfection  first, 
and  upon  careful  and  studied  modelling  and  decoration 
afterward,  and  yet  singularly  enough  many  academies 
demand  of  their  pupils  rapid  architectural  sketches  as 
a  proof  of  proficiency,  which  are  judged  more  with 
reference  to  the  decoration  they  display  than  to  the 
construction  they  contemplate. 

The  modelling  of  the  masses  is  a  very  essential  ele- 
ment in  architecture,  and  constitutes  a  noble  charac- 
teristic of  style.  The  architecture  of  the  thirteenth 
century  developed  a  large  variety  of  modelling  arising 
mainly  from  a  variety  of  grouping  of  a  few  well-de- 
signed members. 

To  understand  architectural  modelling  it  is  desirable 
to  examine  more  minutely  the  methods  of  the  best  med- 
iaeval work,  in  order  to  learn  wherein  consists  its  ex- 
cellence and  also  to  avoid  its  defects. 

It  is  this  method  of  modelling  which  imparted  to 
Gothic  architecture  the  peculiar  character  which  subse- 
quently became  obnoxious  to  the  authors  of  the  Re- 
naissance, and  which  also  became  the  source  of  the 
premature  decay  of  the  style. 

We  know  that  the  system  by  which  piers  and  the 
jambs  of  openings,  arches,  ribs,  etc.,  are  modelled,  by 


410 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


cutting  away  part  of  the  wall  substance,  originated  with 
Christian  architecture.  It  was  not  practiced  in  Greek 
or  Eoman  structures.  It  begins  with  the  arrangement 
of  the  masses  themselves,  and  extends  to  a  modification 
proceeding  perpendicularly  as  well  as  horizontally. 

It  will  be  best  understood  by  lapng  out  a  ground- 
plan  of  a  cathedral ;  first,  in  simple  lines  to  represent  the 
boundaries  of  the  nave  and  transepts,  and  connecting 
the  lines  of  the  nave  on  the  east  side  of  the  transept 
by  a  polygon  representing  the  apse.  These  lines  should 
coincide  with  the  center  line  of  the  clere-story  walls. 
If  to  this  we  add  other  lines  running  through  the 
center  of  the  outer  walls  of  the  structure  we  have  the 
contour  of  a  cathedral,  the  longitudinal  and  transverse 
arms  of  which  consist  of  a  nave  and  two  aisles ;  but 
if  on  the  outside  of  the  nave  lines  Ave  draw  two 
lines  representing  the  boundaries  of  two  aisles,  we 
have  a  church  of  five  longitudinal  and  three  transverse 
aisles,  somewhat  the  same  as  the  cathedral  of  Cologne. 
If  we  now  traverse  these  lines  at  riglit  angles,  at  every 
point  where  it  is  intended  to  support  the  clere-stoiy, 
with  a  series  of  lines  extending  to  the  uttermost  pro- 
jection of  the  buttresses,  we  have  a  skeleton  of  the  ax- 
ial lines  of  the  wall  masses  of  a  Gothic  cathedral. 

It  is  outside  of  the  scope  of  this  work  to  enter  upon 
the  jDurely  mechanical  reasoning  which  determines  the 
various  thicknesses  of  the  walls  of  which  this  line 
skeleton  represents  the  central  axes,  but  we  may  imag- 
ine this  done  and  then  draw  the  thicknesses  of  these 
walls  by  marking  heavy  lines  denoting  their  bounda- 
ries on  eitlier  side  of  the  skeleton  lines.  If  we  now 
proceed  to  cut  openings  into  these  longitudinal  and 
transverse  walls  which  will  serve  to  open  the  whole 


ANALYSIS. 


411 


interior,  and  also  to  connect  it  witli  the  outer  air,  taking 
care  everywhere  to  leave  a  jamb  whicli  may  serve  for 
the  support  of  the  resulting  arches  to  be  modelled  here- 
after, we  have  as  the  result  of  all  this  work  the  due 
form  of  the  main  masonry  which  constitutes  a  cathe- 
dral, less  such  parts  as  may  be  needed  to  organize  its 
vaulting.  The  piers  supporting  the  clere-story,  and 
also  those  supporting  the  wall  separating  the  aisles, 
will  have  the  form  of  a  Maltese  cross,  and  those  form- 
ing the  outer  walls  that  of  a  Latin  cross,  the  long  arm 
of  which  constitutes  the  buttress  ;  and  if  this  process 
of  cutting  away  unnecessary  wall  masses  is  further  con- 
tinued above  the  aisle  roofs,  we  have  also  the  flying- 
buttresses. 

The  moment  of  resistance  to  lateral  pressure  of  a 
buttress  is  directly  as  its  mass  multiplied  by  its  lever- 
age (which  is  the  distance  of  its  center  of  gravity  from 
the  outer  limit  of  its  base  in  the  direction  of  the  lateral 
pressure).  It  follows,  therefore,  that  a  buttress,  the 
perpendicular  section  of  which  is  a  right-angled  triangle, 
will  contain  no  more  material  than  one  the  section  of 
which  is  a  parallelogram  of  the  same  base  and  of  half 
its  height,  while  the  moment  of  resistance  of  the 
former  is  to  the  moment  of  resistance  of  the  latter  as 
four  is  to  three.  This  simple  mechanical  principle  is 
the  foundation  of  the  modelling  of  the  mediaeval  but- 
tress with  its  offsets  and  pinnacle,  a  refinement  of  form 
which  tends  to  greater  mechanical  results  with  the 
same  mass,  and  also  to  greater  aesthetic  expression. 

It  is  this  mechanical  reasoning  which  dictates  a  suc- 
cession of  buttress  offsets  and  the  formation  of  the  pin- 
nacle, a  species  of  perpendicular  modelling  which  corre- 
sponds with  the  horizontal  modelling  of  piers  and  Jambs. 


412 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


It  must  also  appear  from  the  foregoing  that  the  piers 
accruing  under  this  system  must  vary  in  magnitude, 
and  that  those  at  the  intersection  of  the  nave  and 
transept  must  be  the  largest.  The  supports  of  the 
roof  vaulting,  however,  must  be  added  to  the  ground- 
plan  of  those  piers.  It  falls  naturally  into  the  rect- 
angular comers  foiTQed  by  the  cross.  To  model  and 
form  these  piers,  buttresses,  pinnacles,  flying-buttresses, 
main  arches,  and  ribs,  and  to  connect  these  forms  at 
points  of  juncture  by  means  of  proper  members  of 
transition  (capitals,  bases,  etc.,)  was  one  pai-t  of  the 
aesthetic  system  of  Gothic  architecture.  The  circular 
shaft  suggested  itself  as  the  most  available  shape  for 
the  perpendicular  members  of  the  j^iers  which  are  to 
support  the  superincumbent  arches  and  ribs.  The 
connection  of  shafts  with  each  other,  and  their  relation 
to  the  main  mass  of  the  pier,  became  problems  solved 
vnth  greater  or  less  success  in  the  great  works  of 
the  middle  ages. 

To  say  that  this  elementary  system  has  not  in  any  in- 
stance been  consistently  followed  throughout,  is  only 
saying  in  other  words  that  architecture,  in  spite  of  its 
great  progress  in  the  thirteenth  century,  did  not  reach 
perfection.  That  the  aim  was  the  most  logical  sequence 
of  a  most  refined  method  of  construction  is  not  denied 
by  any  one,  but  its  failure  of  complete  success  cannot 
be  attributed  to  any  one  cause. 

The  main  cause  of  failure  may  be  found  in  the  fact 
that  the  formation  of  the  crude  masses  as  here  de- 
scribed was  in  no  instance  fully  realized  by  mediaeval 
architects.  The  law  by  which  the  structural  masses 
were  to  be  first  established  and  subsequently  modelled 
by  cutting  away  a  part  of  these  masses,  although 


ANALYSIS. 


413 


strictly  observed  in  the  formation  of  jambs,  arcies, 
ribs,  buttresses,  and  pinnacles,  was  not  observed  in  tbe 
case  of  tlie  piers  supporting  tbe  divisions  of  nave  and 
aisles.  The  form  of  these  piers  was  derived  directly 
from  the  column.  The  mediaeval  pier  was  not  as 
above  suggested,  a  Maltese  cross  first,  and  a  modelled 
pier  determined  by  that  form  afterward,  but  it  was  an 
arbitrary  grouping  of  sustaining  shafts  around  a  cylin- 
drical pier  which  was  accepted  as  its  nucleus. 

This  arbitrary  arrangement  of  perpendicular  shafts 
was  pursued  with  a  looseness  and  disregard  of  the 
masses  which  should  be  the  basis  of  their  order  and  re- 
lation, which  in  most  cases  converted  these  piers  into  an 
unmeaning  bundle  of  shafts.  The  expression  resulting 
was  weak  and  inefficient  in  denoting  the  gigantic  me- 
chanical work  performed  by  these  structural  organisms. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century  the  very 
meaning  of  these  elementary  shafts  constituting  the 
main  piers,  and  their  relation  to  the  grouping  of  the 
superincumbent  arches  and  ribs,  was  no  longer  under- 
stood, and  the  architects  of  that  and  the  subsequent 
period,  instead  of  referring  the  magnitude  and  arrange- 
ment of  members  of  piers  to.  defined  function,  permitted 
their  imagination  to  prescribe  arbitrary  forms  without 
meaning,  which,  instead  of  expressing  and  emphasizing 
mechanical  function,  only  dismembered  and  weakened 
these  very  important  structural  masses. 

To  understand  this  want  of  clearness,  and  the 
definition  of  the  nature  of  the  system,  we  must 
mentally  transfer  ourselves  from  this  age  of  print- 
ing and  of  organized  schools  to  an  age  of  traditions 
and  apprenticeships ;  otherwise  we  shall  fail  to  com- 
prehend how  the  attainment  of  individuals  constantly 


414'  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


occupied  in  actual  building  became  in  its  theory  lost 
with  the  termination  of  their  individual  labors,  al- 
though it  continued  a  sort  of  enigmatic  life  in  their 
completed  works,  to  be  solved  or  not  by  their  succes- 
sors, according  to  their  ability,  opportunity,  and  ear- 
nestness in  the  pursuit  of  art.  Many  masters  who 
studied  and  admired  this  modelling  of  interior  struct- 
ural parts,  and  who  in  their  works  show  attempts  at 
imitation,  evidently  reverted  to  a  cylindrical,  central 
nucleus,  to  which  the  outer  members  are  simply  added, 
a  process  which  is  inconsistent  with  the  fundamental 
element  of  the  system,  which  demands  that  all  mem- 
bers shall  be  wrought  out  of  the  solid  of  the  crude 
mass.  Many  others  referred  the  modelled  sections  of 
piers,  arches,  and  ribs  to  squares,  triangles,  and  combi- 
nations of  these,  which  they  imagined  themselves  to 
have  observed  as  the  leading  lines  of  these  sections  in 
completed  works,  or  which  they  had  been  taught  to 
consider  such  by  masters  who  did  not  wish  to  com- 
municate the  true  principles  involved,  or  who  pre- 
ferred to  indicate  the  rules  to  be  observed  by  con- 
venient lines,  in  order  to  instruct  a  subordinate  in 
accordance  with  his  position  and  attainments. 

The  other  part  of  the  aesthetic  problem  to  be  solved 
was  to  establish  a  system  of  modelling  external  sur- 
faces, mainly  the  faces  of  buttresses,  pinnacles,  and 
other  wall  faces  which  seemed  to  require  treatment. 

Our  skeleton  ground-plan  mentioned  above  shows 
that  in  the  Gothic  scheme  the  windows  occupy  the 
whole  space  between  buttresses,  if  we  except  the  mass 
of  the  jamb  which  immediately  adjoined  the  buttress. 
Yes,  even  this  jamb  is  omitted  in  the  Ste.  Chapelle  at 
Paris,  the  arches  springing  directly  from  the  buttress 


ANALYSIS. 


415 


without  tlie  intervention  of  a  perpendicular  jamb,  and 
in  similar  minor  constructions  to  be  found  elsewhere. 

This  mechanical  arrangement  gave  rise  to  the  mediae- 
val tracery  with  which  we  are  familiar.  The  mullions 
terminate  at  the  spring  of  the  main  window-arch,  and 
are  thence  united  by  a  system  of  arched  stone-work, 
which  in  the  best  models  is  based  upon  a  rigid  principle 
of  mechanical  construction,  and  is  not,  as  Mr.  Ruskin 
believes,  a  mere  frame  of  spaces  which  are,  according 
to  him,  the  subject  of  the  design ;  that  is,  the  spaces 
are  the  result  of,  and  the  mullion  mass  is  the  object  of, 
design.  This  tracery  is  one  of  the  most  elegant  pro- 
ductions of  mediaeval  art  reasoning,  and  conveys  a 
most  perfect  expression  of  its  function — that  of  a 
pierced  curtain  wall  between  two  buttresses,  which 
are  the  real  supports  of  the  structure.  When  mediae- 
val architects  bethought  themselves  of  a  proper  method 
of  decorating  the  exterior  wall-face,  they  found  this 
window  tracery  in  an  advanced  state  of  perfection. 
They  admired  its  form,  and  applied  it  to  their  but- 
tresses, pinnacles,  wall-faces,  gables,  and  door-heads. 

There  can  be  no  question  of  the  propriety  of  its  ap- 
i:)lication  to  free  standing  gables,  but  we  may  doubt, 
without  disrespect  to  the  art  of  the  past,  whether  the 
use  of  tracery  on  the  face  of  the  wall,  more  especially 
on  the  face  of  the  buttress,  is  conceived  with  the  logical 
clearness  of  other  mediaeval  modelling.  Mainly  it  may 
be  objected  that  it  is  not  expressive  of  a  mass  doing 
energetic  mechanical  work ;  on  the  contrary,  it  origi- 
nates with  a  structural  feature,  which,  inclosed  in  a 
rigid  frame,  is  doing  little  more  than  to  sustain  itself. 
The  recurring  perpendicular  mullions  impart  to  it  an 
expression  of  weakness,  and  this  weakness  is  again  im- 


416 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


parted  by  it  to  the  structure,  the  streiigtli  of  wliicli  it 
should  emphasize,  in  order  to  be  in  truth  artistic 
modelling. 

While  tracery  applied  to  an  opening  is  capable  of 
numerous  variations  of  treatment,  and  hence  of  form ; 
so  long  as  its  density  of  mass  remains  unchanged,  all 
efforts  to  change  its  density  in  order  to  express  vari- 
ous intensities  of  strength  have  failed.  In  truth,  the 
practice  has  been  to  multiply  mullions  in  the  upper 
masses  of  structure,  as  compared  with  those  of  the 
lower  parts  of  the  same  building,  under  the  mistaken 
impression  that  greater  richness  of  modelling  must  con- 
vey an  expression  of  greater  lightness  as  Avell,  which 
is  not  true;  and  finally,  the  variations  possible  in  this 
direction  are  also  insufficient  in  number  to  supply  de- 
grees of  intensity  enough  for  the  multiplied  use  of  a 
tower  like  that  of  Cologne,  for  instance,  where  the 
modelling  of  surfaces  is  begun  at  its  very  bottom. 
When  we  contemplate  the  use  of  tracery  as  applied  to 
the  towers  of  Strasburg,  as  a  sort  of  net- work  not  used 
in  accord  with  the  masses,  but  laid  over  and  sepa- 
rated from  them,  although  in  this  case  it  is  not  quite 
so  injurious  to  the  apparent  force  of  the  masses,  we 
find  it  to  be  an  experiment  of  doubtful  value  in  archi- 
tecture ;  an  experiment  which  contains  more  elements 
of  playfulness  than  of  vigor. 

There  is  another  infelicity  in  a  frequent  j)erpendicu- 
lar  division  of  the  stones  composing  a  work  of  masonry. 
It  imparts  to  the  wall  an  expression  of  weakness,  be- 
cause, in  order  to  resist  perpendicular  pressure,  indica- 
tions of  laminae  in  bonded  stone-work,  if  perceptible  in 
any  manner  whatever,  or  indicated  by  any  process  or 
form,  should  be  horizontal  and  not  perpendicular.  It 


ANALYSIS. 


417 


is  true  tliat  in  GotMc  architecture  perpendicular  struct- 
ural forms  justly  predominate  over  horizontal  forms 
by  reason  of  the  system  of  construction  which  per- 
vades the  style,  and  that  in  consequence  the  buttress 
system  prevails  over  the  cornices  and  beltings  which 
everywhere  abut  against  them,  and  which  are  also 
properly  overshadowed  by  rising  gables  and  pinnacles ; 
but  there  is  no  good  reason  for  a  perpendicular  subdivi- 
sion of  organic  structural  masses,  more  es23ecially  as 
by  such  a  subdivision  the  functional  expression  of 
these  masses  is  weakened,  while  it  is  a  fundamental 
law  of  modelling  that  it  shall  help  to  emphasize  me- 
chanical function. 

A  close  examination  of  the  exterior  of  any  of  the 
Gothic  cathedrals  will  illustrate  this  defect,  and  a  com- 
parison of  those  cathedrals  where  much  of  the  wall 
surface  is  left  without  modelling  with  others  where 
the  exterior  surface  is  entirely  covered  with  tracery 
will  plainly  show  the  architect  where  to  look  for  the 
cause  of  the  defect. 

The  modelling  of  architectural  masses  is  a  principle 
conducive  to  expression,  and  furnishes  to  the  architect 
the  most  consistent  and  logical  grounds  of  proceeding, 
but  modelling  of  masses  means  that  we  should  modify 
crude  form  with  a  view  to  heighten  expression  of  func- 
tion, and  it  means  also  that  this  crude  form  is  not  to 
be  entirely  annihilated — that  through  all  the  modelling 
the  mass  must  be  felt.  It  must  be  felt  not  only  as  a 
thing  concealed  in  the  members  surrounding  it,  but  a 
part  of  its  natural  crude  form  as  it  emanates  from  the 
hands  of  the  constructor  must  be  seen  also.  This  is  en- 
tirely overlooked  by  late  mediaeval  architects. 

Instead  of  attempting  to  make  matter  speak  of  func- 


418 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


tion,  tlie  moment  tliey  disco  veered  tlie  possibility  of 
doing  this  tliey  proceeded  to  model  matter  ont  of  ex- 
istence. They  flattered  themselves  that  this  phonetic 
quality  of  matter,  which  they  called  spirit,  and  ^\  hich 
by  naming  it  so  they  imagined  to  become  an  entity 
detached  from  and  independent  of  matter,  may  be  re- 
tained and  the  matter,  if  not  entirely  abandoned,  may 
at  least  be  concealed,  removed  from  sight. 

The  interior  piers,  arches,  and  ribs  thus  became 
bundles  of  functional  shafts  and  modellings  without 
anywhere  betraying  the  wall-mass,  of  which  they 
ought  to  have  been  a  modification. 

The  expression  imparted  to  architectural  masses  by 
this  excessive  modelling,  and  by  masking  them  with 
tracery,  is  what  displeased  the  architects  of  the  Re- 
naissance, not  without  good  reason.  A  clear  concep- 
tion of  the  cause  of  this  displeasure  would  have  led  to 
a  correction,  without  an  abandonment  of  the  system 
of  modelling  architectural  masses,  as  well  as  to  a  con- 
viction that  structural  masses  can  gain  nothing  in  ex- 
pression by  being  masked  with  forms,  no  matter  how 
beautiful  in  themselves,  if  these  are  not  the  logical 
sequence  of  function.  The  Renaissance  school  con- 
tinued the  mask  used  by  the  Romans  to  represent  a 
scenic  picture  of  the  Greek  portico,  which  is  not  model- 
ling structural  masses,  and  adopted  out  of  the  errors 
of  the  Gothic  school  the  use  of  the  panel,  a  sort  of 
crude  imitation  of  tracery,  which  is  also  not  aesthetic 
modelling. 

This  Renaissance  panel  we  find  introduced  on  the 
underside  of  girders,  on  the  face  of  pilasters,  on  the 
jambs  of  doors  and  windows,  etc.  And  in  all  the 
places  where  it  is  used  it  proves  inconsistent  with  the 


ANALY8IS, 


419 


nature  of  the  material  and  detrimental  to  expression 
of  mechanical  function. 

The  history  of  architecture  since  the  thirteenth  cent- 
ury has  ceased  to  be  the  record  of  a  development  of 
artistic  forms  by  a  clear  representation  of  mechanical 
function  and  by  logical  methods  of  accentuating  this 
function  in  modelling,  carved-ornament  and  color  de- 
coration. It  has  become  a  licentious  use  of  unmeaning 
forms,  which  culminated  in  Gothic  architecture  in  the 
cathedral  of  Milan,  and  in  the  Eenaissance  in  such 
■  buildings  as  the  Zwinger  in  Dresden,  the  Tuileries, 
the  Court  Napoleon  in  the  Louvre,  and  in  kindred 
structures  all  over  Europe. 


CHAPTEK  XXVI. 


CEITICISM. 

Peof.  Brande,  in  his  Dictionar}^  of  Science,  etc.,  de- 
fines criticism  to  be  "  the  art  of  judging  with  propriety 
concerning  objects."  Inasmuch  as  the  objects  found 
in  nature  are  admitted  to  be  perfect  organisms,  which 
in  all  cases  perform  and  express  their  functions,  they 
are  not  objects  of  which  men  may  judge,  and  which 
may  be  properly  considered  as  subject  to  criticism. 
All  we  can  do  with  regard  to  these  is  to  analyze  them 
with  a  view  to  elicit  truths,  principles,  and  natural 
laws.  It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  the  objects  referred 
to  in  the  above  definition  of  criticism  must  be  objects 
created  by  men.  Nor  can  criticism  be  confined  to  ob- 
jects alone.  Ideas  as  we  find  them  developed  in 
science  and  literature,  facts  as  related  in  history, 
emotions  as  expressed  in  art,  are  all  proper  subjects  of 
criticism. 

"In  a  somewhat  more  limited  but  still  extensive 
meaning,"  continues  Prof.  Brande,  "  the  province  of 
criticism  is  confined  to  literature,  philology,  and  the 
fine  arts ;  and  to  subjects  of  antiquarian,  scientific,  or 
historical  investigation.  In  this  sense,  every  branch  of 
literary  study,  as  well  as  each  of  the  fine  arts,  has  its 
j^roper  criticism  as  an  appendage  to  it.  The  elements 
of  criticism  depend  on  the  two  principles  of  beauty 
420 


CRITICISM. 


421 


and  truth,  one  of  which  is  the  final  end  or  object  of 
study  in  every  one  of  its  pursuits  :  beauty  in  letters 
and  the  arts ;  truth  in  history  and  the  sciences.  The 
office  of  criticism,  therefore,  is  first  to  lay  down  those 
forms  or  essential  ideas  which  answer  to  our  concep- 
tion of  the  beautiful  or  the  true  in  each  branch  of 
study,  and  next  to  point  out  by  reference  to  those  ideas 
the  excellence  or  defects  of  individual  works  as  they 
approach  or  diverge  from  the  requisite  standard  in 
each  particular." 

It  is  proposed  here  to  lay  down  "  forms  or  essential 
ideas  which  answer  to  our  conception  of  the  beautiful 
or  the  true,"  and  then  test  individual  works  by  these 
forms  and  ideas.  It  is  clear  that  these  forms  or  essen- 
tial ideas  cannot  be  an  arbitrary  creation  of  our  imag- 
ination ;  they  must  inevitably  be  based  upon  truths 
outside  of  ourselves,  which  may  be  recognized  axioms 
or  sound  conclusions  derived  from  them,  but  in  all 
cases  actual  and  verified  truths.  Why  in  that  case 
a  distinction  should  be  made  between  the  principles  and 
laws  on  which  truth  and  beauty  are  severally  founded 
is  not  apparent.  A  door  is  left  open  to  the  suspi- 
cion that  recognized  ideas  of  beauty  are  opposed  to 
truth,  or  that  they  are  only  approximate  truths,  which 
means  again  either  that  something  is  not  fully  or 
clearly  defined,  or  that  something  well  defined  is  not 
entirely  true. 

Prof.  Brande  explains  more  fully  in  the  following 
remarks:  "Among  the  classical  ancients  the  criticism 
of  beauty  was  carried  to  a  high  degree  of  perfection. 
Less  encumbered  with  a  multitude  of  facts  and  things 
to  be  known  than  ourselves,  their  minds  were  more 
at  leisure  and  more  sedulously  exercised  in  reflecting 


422  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


on  their  own  notions  and  perceptions;  hence,  the  as- 
tounding progress  which  they  made  in  the  fine  arts." 

Personal  notions  and  perceptions  are  here  supposed 
to  lead  to  great  progress  in  the  fine  arts,  while  facts 
and  things  are  pronounced  a  material  hindrance  to  the 
same  end.  Although  we  may  not  presume  to  define 
the  things  referred  to,  we  are  forced  to  the  conclusion 
that  whatever  may  have  been  the  nature  of  the  notions 
and  perceptions  of  the  classical  ancients,  they  were  not 
derived  unduly  from  facts. 

Criticism  in  art  may  be  defined  as  an  inquiry  into 
the  nature  of  a  work  of  art,  in  order  to  discover  its 
intrinsic  merit. 

It  is  not  the  function  of  criticism  to  lay  do^vn  laws 
by  which  works  of  art  are  to  be  judged.  This  is  the 
province  of  the  philosophy  of  art.  Nor  does  criticism^ 
necessarily  involve  a  final  Judgment  on  a  work  of  art ; 
its  legitimate  purpose  is  to  analyze  art-work  ^^^th  due 
reference  to  art-principles,  and  to  permit  others,  say 
the  readers  or  hearers  of  criticisms,  to  draw  their  own 
conclusions.  It  is  within  the  province  of  criticism  to 
discuss  art-works  relatively  to  each  other,  but  this 
must  be  done  by  analysis  and  not  by  mere  opinion. 
In  fact,  an  opinion  of  the  relative  or  intrinsic  merits  of 
a  work  of  fine  art,  without  analysis  and  reference  to 
the  laws  of  the  philosophy  of  art,  is  not  criticism. 

The  ultimate  end  of  criticism  is  to  elicit  the  quantity 
and  quality  of  creative  force  manifested  in  a  work  of 
art,  also  what  part  of  this  creative  force  is  exclusively 
due  to  its  author,  and  what  ]3art  is  due  to  the  general 
progress  of  art  at  the  time  of  its  production. 

To  estimate  correctly  the  physical  force  exercised  by 
a  man  in  carrying  a  burden,  we  have  to  consider  not 


CRITICISM. 


423 


only  its  weiglit,  but  also  its  bulk  and  the  bulk  of  the 
man  himself,  for  both  constitute  elements  of  load  and 
displacement  of  atmospheric  air ;  not  only  the  distance 
to  which  the  burden  is  carried,  but  also  the  inclination 
of  the  road  upon  which  the  man  travels,  whether  he 
goes  up  hill  or  down  hill;  and  also  his  means  and 
methods,  whether  he  carries  his  load  in  one  hand,  on 
his  shoulder,  or  on  his  head. 

It  is  even  so  in  measuring  creative  force  in  art. 
When  grief  is  portrayed  on  canvas,  in  stone,  or 
by  words,  through  contortion,  tears,  or  raving  decla- 
mation— the  artist  is  carrying  his  load  compactly  and 
easily  balanced  on  his  head  on  a  descending  grade; 
but  when  grief  is  portrayed  behind  a  smile  as  a  sacred 
thing  not  to  be  divulged,  then  the  artist  is  carrying  his 
load  on  a  rising  grade,  difficult  to  overcome.  It  has 
been  shown  in  another  chapter  that  emotions  are  repre- 
sented in  art  by  their  physical  functions.  ISTow  these 
physical  functions  may  be  many  or  few,  they  may  be 
strongly  marked  or  merely  indicated,  they  may  be 
direct  or  indirect  functions,  and  yet  they  are  functions 
of  the  same  type  of  emotion.  The  difference  consists 
in  the  act  (mot If  ^  selected  to  express  the  idea.  It  is 
the  judicious  selection  of  the  act  which  constitutes 
the  ideal  in  art,  and  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  rule, 
that  the  more  exalted  the  ideal  the  greater  the  creative 
force  required  to  render  it  materially ;  and,  also,  the 
greater  the  progress  of  art  in  the  technic  which  enables 
the  artist  to  render  the  physical  functions  of  emotion, 
the  greater  becomes  the  demand  on  art  for  perfected 
expression. 

The  questions  which  should  be  asked  and  answered 
in  the  critical  analysis  of  an  art- work,  are : 


424 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


1.  Does  the  art-work  express  the  idea  as  held  at  the 
time  of  its  creation? 

2.  Is  the  act  selected  to  illustrate  the  idea  an  ideal 
act,  and  as  such  what  is  its  standard  of  merit  ? 

3.  Are  the  emotions  represented  in  accordance  with 
the  act  ?  Are  they  fully  and  correctly  apprehended  ? 
And,  finally — 

4.  What  was  the  development  of  the  technical  means 
and  methods  at  the  time  when  this  work  of  fine  art 
was  produced?  Were  they  known  to  the  artist?  Did 
he  make  good  use  of  them,  and  thus  render  successfully 
the  idea  as  represented  in  the  ideal  act  and  its  resultant 
emotions  ? 

It  may  be  also  asked :  Does  this  work  of  art  betray 
progress  on  the  part  of  its  author  in  a  successful 
imitation  of  nature  or  in  the  technical  methods  in- 
volved ? 

The  answers  to  any  or  all  of  these  questions  may  in 
legitimate  art  criticism  be  rendered  in  the  form  of  an 
analysis  of  the  work  of  art  under  consideration,  and 
by  means  of  this  analysis  the  intrinsic  or  comparative 
value  of  the  art-force  displayed  may  be  elicited. 

The  method  of  this  system  of  criticism  in  architect- 
ure may  be  illustrated  by  an  analysis  of  two  monu- 
ments which  offer  salient  features  for  comparison. 
The  cathedrals  of  Cologne  and  Milan  present  this 
favorable  opportunity  in  an  eminent  degree. 

The  cathedral  of  Colosrne  was  conceived  and  de- 
signed  about  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  centuiy, 
when  Christian  architecture  had  attained  its  greatest 
perfection,  and  that  of  Milan  about  one  hundred  years 
later.  Both  are  the  work  of  German  architects,  and, 
if  the  opinion  of  the  most  eminent  historians  is  not  to 


CRITICISM. 


425 


be  disregarded,  HeiDrich  Arlez,  tlie  architect  of  the 
Cliurch  of  Milan,  attempted  a  monument  wliich  should 
excel  that  of  Cologne  in  magnitude,  richness  of  orna- 
ment, and  costliness  of  material,  and  which,  they  say, 
is  not  unlike  it  in  its  general  arrangement,  as  far  at 
least  as  its  ground-plan  is  concerned.  The  reader  will 
best  gather  all  this  and  more  if  we  permit  those  his- 
torians to  speak  for  themselves. 

Of  the  cathedral  of  Cologne,  Mr.  Ferguson  says : 

That  it  is  the  typical  cathedral  of  Germany,  one  of  the  noblest 
temples  ever  erected  by  man  in  honor  of  his  Creator.  In  this 
respect  Germany  has  been  more  fortunate  tlian  either  France  or 
England,  for,  though  in  the  number  of  edifices  in  the  pointed 
style  and  in  beauty  of  design  these  countries  are  far  superior, 
Germany  alone  possesses  one  pre-eminent  example  in  which  all 
the  beauties  of  its  style  are  united.  *  *  *  in  dimensions  it 
is  the  largest  cathedral  of  northern  Europe,  its  extreme  length 
being  468,  its  extreme  breadth  275,  and  its  superficies  91,464  feet, 
which  is  20,000  feet  more  than  are  covered  by  Amiens.  On 
comparing  the  eastern  half  of  these  two  from  the  center  of  the 
intersection  of  the  transept,  it  will  be  found  that  Cologne  is  an 
exact  copy  of  the  French  cathedral,  not  only  in  general  arrange- 
ment but  also  in  dimensions,  the  only  difference  being  a  few  feet 
of  extra  length  in  the  choir  of  Cologne,  which  is  more  than  made 
up  at  Amiens  by  the  projection  of  the  Lady  Chapel.  The  nave 
too  at  Cologne  is  one  bay  less  in  length.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
German  building  exceeds  the  French  by  one  additional  bay  in 
each  transept,  the  two  extra  aisles  in  the  nave,  and  the  enormous 
substructures  of  the  western  towers.  All  these  are  decided 
faults  of  design,  into  which  no  French  architect  would  have 
fallen. 

Looking  at  Cologne  in  any  light  no  one  can  fail  to  perceive 
that  its  principle  defect  is  its  relative  shortness.  If  this  was  un- 
avoidable, at  least  the  transept  should  have  been  omitted  alto- 
gether, as  at  Bourges,  or  kept  within  the  line  of  the  walls,  as  at 
Paris,  Eheims,  and  elsewhere.  It  is  true  our  long,  low  English 
cathedrals  require  bold,  projecting  transepts  to  relieve  their 


426 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTVRE. 


monotony ;  but  at  Cologne  their  projection  detracts  both  inter- 
nally and  externally  from  the  requisite  appearance  of  length. 
Indeed,  this  seems  to  have  been  suspected  at  the  time,  as  the 
fayades  of  the  transepts  were  the  least  finished  parts  of  the  build- 
ing when  it  was  left,  and  the  modern  restorers  would  have  done 
well  if  they  had  profited  by  the  hesitation  of  their  predecessors 
and  omitted  an  expensive  and  detrimental  addition. 

Another  defect  before  alluded  to  is  the  double  aisles  of  the  nave. 
It  is  true  these  are  found  at  Paris,  but  they  were  an  early  experi- 
ment. At  Bourges  the  fault  is  avoided  by  the  aisles  being  of 
different  heights,  but  in  none  of  the  best  examples,  such  as  at 
Rheims,  Chartres,  or  Amiens,  would  the  architects  have  been 
guilty  of  dispersing  their  effects  or  destroying  their  perspectives, 
as  is  done  at  Cologne;  and,  now  that  the  whole  of  the  interior  is 
finished,  these  defects  of  proportion  are  become  more  apparent 
than  they  were  before. 

The  clear  width  of  the  nave  is  41  feet  and  six  inches  between 
the  piers,  its  height  155  feet,  or  nearly  four  times  the  width — a 
proportion  altogether  intolerable  in  architecture  ;  and  this  defect 
is  made  even  more  apparent  here  by  the  aisles  being  together 
equal  in  width  to  the  nave,  while  they  are  only  60  feet  in  height. 
Besides  the  defect  of  the  artistic  disproportion,  this  exaggerated 
height  of  the  interior  has  the  further  disadvantage  of  dwarfing 
to  a  painful  extent  the  human  beings  who  frequent  it.  Even 
the  gorgeous  ceremonial  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  their  most 
crowded  processions,  lose  all  their  effect  by  comparison  with  the 
building  in  which  they  are  performed.  Were  a  regiment  of  the 
Life-Guards  on  horseback  to  ride  down  the  central  aisle  at  Co- 
logne, they  would  be  converted  into  pigmies  by  the  140  feet  of 
height  above  them.  Lateral  spaciousness  has  not  the  same  dwarf- 
ing effect.  When  all  are  standing  on  the  same  floor  distance 
does  not  diminish  in  a  building  more  than  in  the  open  air,  and 
with  that  effect  we  are  familiar  ;  but  great  height  in  a  room  is 
unusual,  and  in  proportion  as  it  affects  the  mind  with  awe  or 
astonishment  does  it  diminish  the  appearance  of  those  objects 
with  which  we  are  familiar.  Perhaps,  however,  the  most  strik- 
ing defect  of  the  internal  design  is  the  want  of  repose  or  subordi- 
nation of  parts ;  fifty  pillars  practically  identical  in  design,  and 
spaced  nearly  equally  over  the  floor,  and  beyond  them  every- 


CRITICISM, 


427 


where  a  "wall  of  glass.  If  the  four  central  piers  had  been  wider 
spaced,  or  of  double  the  section  they  now  are,  or  had  there  been 
any  plain  wall  or  lateral  chapels  anywhere,  it  would  have  been 
better.  Notwithstanding  all  those  defects,  it  is  a  glorious  tem- 
ple ;  but  so  mathematically  perfect  that  not  one  little  corner  is 
left  for  poetry,  and  it  is  consequently  felt  to  be  infinitely  less  in- 
teresting than  many  buildings  of  far  less  pretensions. 

Externally  the  proportions  are  as  mistaken,  if  not  more  so, 
than  those  of  the  interior  ;  the  mass  and  enormous  height  of  the 
western  towers — actually  greater  according  to  the  design  than 
the  whole  length  of  the  building — if  they  are  ever  completed, 
will  give  to  the  whole  cathedral  a  look  of  shortness  which  noth- 
ing can  redeem.  With  such  a  ground-plan  a  true  architect  would 
have  reduced  their  mass  one-half  and  their  height  by  one-third 
at  least. 

Besides  its  great  size,  the  cathedral  of  Cologne  has  the  advan- 
tage of  having  been  designed  at  exactly  the  best  age,  while,  as 
before  remarked,  the  cathedrals  of  Rheims  and  Paris  were  a  little 
too  early,  St.  Ouen  too  late.  The  choir  of  Cologne,  which  we 
have  seen  to  be  of  almost  identical  dimensions  with  that  of 
Amiens,  excels  its  French  rival  internally  by  its  glazed  triforium, 
the  exquisite  tracery  of  the  windows,  the  general  beauty  of  the 
details,  and  a  slightly  better  proportion  between  the  height  of 
the  aisles  and  the  clere-story.  But  this  advantage  is  lost  exter- 
nally by  the  forest  of  exaggerated  pinnacles  which  crowd  around 
the  upper  part  of  the  building,  not  only  in  singular  discord  with 
the  plainness  of  the  lower  story,  but  hiding  and  confusing  the 
perspective  of  the  clere-story  in  a  manner  as  objectionable  in  a 
constructive  point  of  view  as  it  is  to  the  eye  of  an  artist.  Deco- 
rated construction  is,  no  doubt,  the  great  secret  of  true  architect- 
ure, but,  like  other  good  things,  this  may  be  overdone.  One- 
lialf  of  the  abutting  means  here  employed  might  have  been  dis- 
pensed with,  and  the  other  half  disposed  so  simply  as  to  do  the 
work  without  the  confusion  produced.  When  we  turn  to  the  in- 
terior, we  see  what  the  vault  is  which  this  mass  of  abutments  is 
provided  to  support.  We  find  it  with  all  the  defects  of  French 
vaulting — the  ribs  few  and  weak,  the  ridge  undulating,  the  sur- 
faces twisted,  and  the  general  effect  poor  and  feeble  as  compared 
with  the  gorgeous  walls  that  support  it.    Very  judicious  paint- 


428 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


ing  might  remedy  this  to  some  extent ;  but,  as  it  now  stands,  the 
effect  is  most  unpleasing. 

The  noblest  as  well  as  the  most  original  part  of  the  design  of 
this  cathedral  is  the  western  fagade.  Had  this  been  completed 
it  would  have  risen  to  the  height  of  510  feet.  This  front,  con- 
considered  as  an  independent  feature,  without  reference  to  its 
position,  is  a  very  grand  conception.  It  equals  in  magnificence 
those  designed  for  Strasburg  and  Louvain,  and  surpasses  both 
in  purity  and  elegance,  though  it  is  very  questionable  if  the  open- 
work of  the  spires  is  not  carried  to  far  too  great  an  extent,  and 
even  the  lower  part  designed  far  too  much  by  rule.  M.  Boisseree 
says  :  *^The  square  and  the  triangle  here  reign  supreme  ;  "  and 
this  is  certainly  the  case.  Every  part  is  designed  with  the  scale 
and  the  compasses,  and  with  a  mathematical  precision  perfectly 
astonishing ;  but  we  miss  all  the  fanciful  beauty  of  the  more  ir- 
regular French  and  English  examples.  The  storied  porches  of 
Rheims,  Chartres,  and  Wells  comprise  far  more  poetry  within 
their  limited  dimensions  than  is  spread  over  the  whole  surface  of 
this  gigantic  frontispiece.  Cologne  is  a  noble  conception  of  a 
mason,  but  these  were  the  works  of  artists  in  the  highest  sense  of 
the  word. 

For  the  convenience  of  the  reader,  and  to  facilitate 
future  reference  and  comparison,  this  criticism  may  be 
condensed  somewhat  as  follows :  The  cathedral  of  Co- 
logne is  one  of  the  noblest  temples  ever  erected  by 
man.  Its  eastern  half  is  copied  from  the  church  at 
Amiens.  It  is  the  longest  church  known,  yet  it  is  too 
short  in  relation  to  its  width  and  that  of  its  transepts. 
English  churches  need  transepts  to  relieve  their  mo- 
notony, this  does  not.  It  has  too  many  aisles — true 
some  French  churches  have  the  same,  but  this  was 
done  before  French  architects  knew  better.  It  is  al- 
together too  high  in  its  interior,  it  dwarfs  man,  and 
would  convert  life-guards  on  horseback  into  pigmies. 
The  most  striking  defect  of  its  interior  is  want  of 


CRITICISM. 


429 


repose,  because  fifty  pillars,  practically  identical  in  de- 
sign, are  spaced  nearly  equally  over  tlie  floor.  Monotony 
is  tlius  opposed  to  repose.  It  is  a  glorious  temple, 
matliematically  perfect,  hence  not  a  corner  left  for 
poetry.  Mathematics  opposed  to  poetry.  Externally 
the  proportions  are  worse  than  internally.  A  true  ar- 
chitect could  never  have  done  the  like.  It  was  de- 
signed at  the  best  age.  Its  choir  is  much  better  than 
that  of  Amiens,  from  which  it  has  been  copied,  but 
externally  this  is  bad  also — too  rich  above  and  too  plain 
below,  which  is  a  discord.  Decorated  construction  is 
true  architecture,  but  this  is  overdone — one  half  the 
abutments  might  have  been  dispensed  with.  The 
interior  vaults  are  as  bad  as  any  French  vaults.  We 
might  paint  them  out  somehow,  but  they  will  not  do 
as  they  are.  The  western  fagade  is  a  very  grand 
conception,  equals  Strasburg  and  Louvain  in  magnifi- 
cence, and  surpasses  them  in  purity  and  elegance,  yet 
upon  the  whole  it  is  not  good,  it  lacks  fanciful  beauty. 
Cologne  is  a  noble  conception  of  a  mason,  but  not  that 
of  an  artist. 

As  this  is  not  pretended  to  be  a  divine  revelation,  nor 
the  pronunciamento  of  an  architect  who  has  built  a  bet- 
ter cathedral  than  that  of  Cologne,  the  most  humble 
reader  seems  entitled  to  some  reason,  some  explana- 
tion  why  apparent  length  is  made  the  ultimate  object 
of  a  church  of  God,  or  the  main  element  of  a  work 
of  architecture.  No  doubt  the  magnitude  of  Cologne 
cathedrafl  is  not  developed  in  its  exterior  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  every  other  consideration,  but  surely  this  can- 
not be  a  sufficient  reason  to  deny  to  its  author  the  title 
of  an  artist. 

The  same  author  says  of  the  cathedral  of  Milan : 


430  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


That  it  is  at  once  the  most  remarkable  and  the  largest  and 
richest  church  of  all  the  churches  erected  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
It  was  commenced  in  1385  and  consecrated  in  1418,  at  which 
date  all  the  essential  parts  seem  to  have  been  compieted,  though 
the  central  spire  was  not  finished  till  about  the  year  1440  by 
Brunelleschi.  The  design  is  said  to  have  been  furnished  by  a 
German  architect,  Heinrich  Arlcz  Gamnuden,  or,  as  the  Italians 
call  him,  "  da  Gamundia,"  a  statement  which  is  corroborated  by 
the  fact  that  the  details  and  many  of  the  forms  are  essentially 
Northern  ;  but  it  was  equally  certain  that  he  was  not  allowed  to 
control  the  whole,  for  all  the  great  features  of  the  church  are  as 
thoroughly  Italian  as  the  details  are  German  ;  it  is  therefore  by 
no  means  improbable  that  Marco  di  Campione,  as  the  Italians 
assert,  or  some  other  native  artist,  was  Joined  with  him  or  placed 
over  him. 

In  size  it  is  the  largest  of  all  mediaeval  cathedrals,  covering 
107,782  feet.  In  material  it  is  the  richest,  being  built  wholly  of 
white  marble,  which  is  scarcely  the  case  with  any  other  church, 
large  or  small,  and  in  decoration  it  is  the  most  gorgeous.  The 
whole  of  the  exterior  is  covered  with  tracery,  and  the  amount  of 
carving  and  tracery  lavished  upon  its  pinnacles  and  spires  is  un- 
rivaled in  any  other  building  of  Europe.  It  is  also  built  wholly 
(with  the  exception  of  one  fagade)  according  to  one  design. 
Yet  with  all  these  advantages,  the  appearance  of  this  wonderful 
building  is  not  satisfactory  to  anyone  who  is  familiar  with  the 
great  edifices  on  this  side  of  the  Alps.  Cologne,  if  complete, 
would  be  more  beautiful;  Kheims,  Chartres,  Amiens,  and  Bour- 
ges  leave  a  far  more  satisfactory  impression  upon  the  mind  ;  and 
even  the  much  smaller  church  of  St.  Ouen  will  convey  far  more 
pleasure  to  the  true  artist  than  this  gorgeous  temple. 

The  cause  of  all  this  is  easy  to  understand,  since  all,  or  nearly 
all  its  defects  arise  from  the  introduction  of  Italian  features  into 
a  Gothic  church,  or  rather,  perhaps,  it  should  be  said,  from  a 
German  architect  being  allowed  to  ornament  an  IMian  cathe- 
dral. 

Taking  the  contemporary  cathedral  of  St.  Petronio,  at  Bo- 
logna, as  our  standard  of  comparison,  it  will  be  seen  that  the 
sections  are  almost  identical  both  in  dimensions  and  in  form  ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  it  will  be  perceived  that  the  German  system 


CRITICISM, 


431 


prevailed  in  doubling  the  number  of  piers  between  the  nave  and 
side  aisles.  So  far,  therefore,  the  German  architect  saved  the 
church.  The  two  small  clere-stories  still  remain,  and,  although 
the  design  avoids  the  mullionless  little  circles  of  Bologna,  there 
is  only  space  for  small  openings,  which  more  resemble  the  win- 
dows of  an  attic  than  of  a  clere-story.  The  greater  quantity  of 
light  being  thus  introduced  by  the  tall  windows  of  the  outer 
aisle,  the  appearance  is  that  of  a  building  lighted  from  below, 
which  is  fatal  to  architectural  effect. 

The  model  still  preserved  on  the  spot  shows  that  the  German 
architect  designed  great  portals  at  each  end  of  the  transepts. 
This,  however,  was  overruled  in  favor  of  two  small  polygonal 
apses.  Instead  of  the  great  octagonal  dome  which  an  Italian 
would  have  placed  upon  the  intersection  of  the  whole  width  of 
the  nave  and  transepts,  German  influence  has  confined  it  to  the 
central  aisle,  which  is  perhaps  more  to  be  regretted  than  any  other 
mistake  in  the  building.  The  choir  is  neither  a  French  chevet 
nor  a  German  or  Italian  apse,  but  a  compromise  between  the 
two,  a  French  circlet  of  columns  inclosed  in  a  German  polygonal 
termination. 

This  part  of  the  building,  with  its  simple  form  and  three 
glorious  windows,  is  perhaps  an  improvement  on  either  of  the 
models  of  which  it  is  compounded. 

This  is  the  nearest  approach  to  the  French  chevet  arrange- 
ment to  be  found  in  all  Italy.  It  is  extremely  rare  to  find  in 
that  country  an  aisle  running  round  the  choir,  and  opening  into 
it,  or  with  a  circlet  of  aspidal  chapels,  which  is  so  universal  in 
France.  The  Italian  church  is  not,  in  fact,  derived  from  a  com- 
bination of  a  circular  Eastern  church  with  the  Western  rectan- 
gular nave,  but  is  a  direct  copy  from  the  old  Roman  basilica. 

The  details  of  the  interior  of  Milan  are  almost  wholly  German. 
The  great  capitals  of  the  pillars  with  their  niches  and  statues  are 
the  only  compromise  between  the  ordinary  German  form  and  the 
great,  deep,  ugly  capitals — fragments,  in  fact,  of  classical  entab- 
latures— which  disfigure  the  cathedrals  of  Florence  and  Bologna 
and  so  many  other  Italian  churches.  Had  the  ornamentation  of 
these  been  carried  up  to  the  springing  of  the  vault,  they  would 
have  been  unexceptional ;  as  it  is,  with  all  their  richness,  their 
effect  is  unmeaning. 


432 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


Externally,  the  appearance  is  very  like  that  of  St.  Maria  del 
Fiori — the  apse  is  rich,  varied,  and  picturesque,  and  the  central 
dome  (excepting  the  details)  similar,  though  on  a  smaller  scale, 
to  what  I  believe  to  have  been  the  original  design  of  the  Floren- 
tine church.  The  nave  is  near  as  flat  as  at  Florence,  the  clere- 
story not  being  visible ;  but  the  forest  of  pinnacles  and  flying- 
buttresses,  and  the  richness  of  the  ornamentation,  go  far  to  hide 
that  defect.  The  facade  was  left  unfinished,  as  was  so  often  the 
case  with  the  great  churches  of  Italy. 

Pellegrini  was  afterward  employed  to  finish  it,  and  a  model  of 
his  design  is  still  preserved.  It  is  fortunate  that  his  plan  was 
not  carried  out.  The  fagade  was  finished,  as  we  now  see  it,  from 
the  design  of  Amati,  by  order  of  Napoleon.  It  is  commonplace, 
as  might  be  expected  from  its  age,  but  inoffensive.  The  door- 
ways are  part  of  Pellegrini's  design,  and  the  mediaeval  forms  be- 
ing placed  over  those  of  the  cinque-cento  produce  a  strangely  in- 
congruous effect.  For  the  west  front  several  original  designs  are 
still  preserved.  One  of  these,  with  two  small  square  towers  at 
the  angles,  as  at  Vercelli  and  elsewhere,  was  no  doubt  the  Italian 
design.  The  German  one  is  preserved  by  Bassi.  Had  this  been 
executed  the  fa9ade  would  have  been  about  one-third  wider  than 
that  of  Cologne.  Had  the  height  of  the  towers  been  in  the 
same  proportion  they  would  have  been  the  tallest  in  the  world. 
In  that  case  the  effect  here,  as  at  Cologne,  would  have  been  to 
shorten  and  overpower  the  rest  of  the  building  to  a  painful  ex- 
tent. A  design  midway  between  the  two,  with  spires  rising  to 
the  same  height  as  the  central  one,  or  about  360  feet,  would  per- 
haps have  tlie  happiest  effect.  At  any  rate,  the  want  of  some 
such  features  is  greatly  felt  in  the  building  as  it  stands. 

To  condense  the  above,  we  may  sum  it  up  as  follows : 
The  cathedral  of  Milan  is  the  largest,  richest,  and 
most  remarkable  church  of  the  Middle  Ages,  yet  it  is 
not  satisfactory.  Cause :  The  introduction  of  Italian 
features  into  a  German  church,  or  the  admission  of 
German  ornament  into  an  Italian  structure.  Is  this 
originally  a  German  or  an  Italian  design  ?  Its  ground- 
plan  is  German,  its  section  Italian.    The  latter  is 


CRITICISM. 


433 


improved  by  tlie  German.  The  dome  is  too  small.  An 
Italian  would  have  made  it  larger,  and  this  is  the 
greatest  mistake.  The  choir  is  neither  French  nor 
German,  but  an  improvement  on  either.  The  taber- 
nacles surrounding  the  piers  should  have  been  carried 
up  to  the  spring  of  the  vaults  of  the  nave.  Could 
this  be  done  ? 

Externally,  the  nave  is  not  visible.  Buttresses,  pin- 
nacles, and  flying-buttresses  hide  that  defect.  The  fa- 
cade is  commonplace,  but  inoffensive*  The  want  of 
some  sort  of  towers  is  here  f elto 

Kugler  *  says : 

The  corner-stone  of  the  cathedral  of  Cologne  was  laid  on  14th 
of  August,  1248,  and  the  work  was  subsequently  delayed  and  re- 
assumed  toward  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  the  com- 
pleted choir  consecrated  on  the  27th  September,  1322.  The 
work  then  continued  during  the  fourteenth  century,  but  little 
was  done  in  the  fifteenth,  and  during  the  fore  part  of  the  six- 
teenth century  it  was  entirely  stopped.  It  is  the  work  of  many 
generations,  and  this  is  perceptible  in  the  varying  treatment  of 
the  different  parts,  yet  the  whole  has  the  expression  of  an  unde- 
viating  plan.  We  may  perceive  in  its  first  conception  the  intent 
to  create  a  structure  which  shall  combine  all  the  architectural 
results  attained  at  that  period.  The  design  follows  the  example 
of  the  French  system  of  cathedrals  as  developed  during  the  fore 
part  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  may  be  considered  as  the 
key-stone  of  that  effort.  What  had  been  attained  in  the  cathe- 
dral at  Amiens,  and  what  had  already  deteriorated  in  the  church 
at  Beauvais,  we  see  here  recovered  with  renewed  force  and  raised 
to  a  new  solution.  This  renewed  effort  betrays  the  fundamental 
elements  of  the  French  Gothic  developed  with  that  German  art- 
force,  based  upon  the  rigid  scheme  {strenge  Zuclit)  which  is  of 
the  early  Gothic  architecture  of  the  lower  Rhine  and  the  form- 
language  {Formsprache)  of  the  latest  formation  ( Gestaltung)  of 


^  History  of  Architecture  by  Franz  Kugler,  Stuttgart,  1859. 
28 


434 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


the  German  romantic  architecture.  In  this  structure  is  expressed 
the  fullest  earnestness,  the  most  noble  and  elevated  rhythm,  a 
feeling  for  the  most  complete  penetration  of  the  problem  of  at- 
taining a  true  architectural  organism.  As  we  advance  with  the 
progress  of  the  building  we  perceive  a  rising  effort  in  behalf  of  a 
clearer,  more  vital,  and  richer  development.  The  later  parts  of 
the  structure  show  a  decided  separation  from  the  French  school, 
an  independent  scheme  of  composition  and  formation. 

The  plan  presents  a  nave  with  two  aisles  on  each  side  of  it,  and 
a  transept  with  one  aisle'  on  each  side  of  its  nave,  a  choir  with  a 
seven-sided  apse,  aisles  and  chapels  surrounding  it,  and  two 
towers  at  the  west  end  fronting  the  aisles  and  inclosing  a  vesti- 
bule between  them.  The  proportions  are  perfect,  and  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  choir  and  its  surrounding  chapels  there  is  a 
firm  rhythm,  unequaled  in  any  other  structure  belonging  to  this 
system. 

The  dimensions  are  of  the  largest,  450  (Roman)  feet  being  the 
interior  length,  150  (Roman)  feet  the  width.  The  nave  is  fifty 
feet  wide  from  centre  to  centre  of  the  piers.  The  side  aisles  are 
one-half  the  width  of  the  nave  between  the  axes  of  piers.  The 
total  length  of  the  transept  is  250  (Roman)  feet,  and  its  width 
100  (Roman)  feet.  The  height  of  the  nave  is  150  (Roman)  feet ; 
that  of  the  side  aisles  65  (Roman)  feet. 

The  master  *  (author)  of  the  design  is  not  known,  in  spite  of 
many  inquiries.  After  1255  Gerhard  von  Rile(Rile,  a  village  near 
Cologne,  whence  his  father  came)  was  known  as  the  master  and 
conductor  {Leiter)  of  the  building. 

His  services  are  mentioned  in  a  document  of  the  year  1257, 
conveying  to  him  a  considerable  landed  property.  He  presided 
over  the  building  up  to  the  year  1295,  and  he  is  supposed  to  be 
its  first  master.  It  is  certain  that  the  leading  portions  of  the 
cathedral,  the  erection  of  which  falls  in  that  period,  Avere  executed 
under  his  direction,  viz  :  the  choir  up  to  the  triforium.  He  in- 
dicates in  these  the  spirit  in  which  are  developed  the  early  forms 
of  the  structure,  being  one  of  severity  and  simplicity.  The  piers 
of  the  interior  have  a  circular  nucleus,  modelled  with  a  view  to 


*  It  is  well  known  that  the  medijeval  architects  were  masters  of 
the  lodge  over  which  they  presided,  a  custom  still  prevalent  among  modern 
freemasons. 


CRITICISM. 


435 


express  the  subsequent  modelling  and  function  of  the  vault.  This 
modelling  consists  of  shafts  or  beads  of  various  sizes  attached 
directly  to  the  pier.  This  attachment  has  not  reached  a  subse- 
quent development  whereby  a  connection  is  established  between 
these  circular  members  by  intervening  coves  and  narrow  fillets. 
The  bases  of  each  pier  arise  from  an  unmodelled  plinth,  the  tran- 
sition passing  through  a  series  of  polygons,  yet  the  mouldings 
are  still  somewhat  crude.  The  capitals  consist  of  plain  flat  foli- 
age, and  the  ribs  of  the  central  aisle  rise  directly  out  of  these. 
They,  as  well  as  the  main  arches,  have  bottle  mouldings  separated 
by  deep  channels  and  fillets.  In  this  method  of  modelling  we 
must  recognize  a  transition  from  the  crude  to  a  more  fluent  con- 
tour, which  imparts  to  these  ribs  and  arches  an  expression  of 
elastic  rigidity.  The  side  windows  are  filled  with  rich  tracery  of 
the  kind  of  those  of  the  Ste.  Chapelle  of  Paris,  but  of  severer 
treatment. 

The  buttresses,  calculated  to  resist  the  lateral  pressure  of  the 
superstructure,  are  still  treated  as  gigantic  rock  masses  without 
artistic  modelling. 

The  superstructure  of  the  choir  belongs  to  the  second  epoch  of 
the  building,  which  begins  with  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, and  continues  up  to  the  consecration,  in  the  year  1322.  Doc- 
uments of  the  time  mention  as  the  then  masters,  Arnold  (1295- 
1301),  and  his  son  John,  (1301-1330),  the  latter  of  whom,  like 
the  first  master,  Gerhard,  is  mentioned  by  these  documents  with 
special  recognition  of  merit  and  with  distinction.  This  super- 
structure visibly  consists  of  two  parts  denoting  special  progress: 
the  main  body  of  the  clere-story,  and  the  system  of  flying-but- 
tresses which  sustain  its  lateral  pressure.  The  main  walls  are 
distinguished  by  their  powerful  fenestration  filled  with  tracery 
of  the  most  refined  style,  of  noble  and  consistent  lines.  Below 
them,  and  included  in  the  system,  we  find  the  triforium  per- 
fectly in  accord  with  the  windows  above,  both  in  their  exterior 
and  interior  expression.  Above,  these  windows  are  surmounted 
with  traceried  gables,  rising  above  the  roof  and  separated 
by  elegant  pinnacles,  which  also  pierce  the  parapet  of  the  roof. 

Gigantic  tov/ering  piers  of  cruciform  ground-plan  rise  in  storied 
peaks  above  the  outer  buttresses,  and  over  the  interior  piers  sep- 
arating the  aisles  of  the  choir  from  the  outer  chapels.  Deco- 


436 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


rated  with  niches  and  tracery,  gables  and  pinnacles,  they  pre- 
sent a  characteristic  contrast  to  the  early  simplicity  of  the  but- 
tresses of  the  lower  story.  The  decoration  of  these,  however,  has 
not  yet  reached  the  final  perfection  which  we  see  subsequently 
developed  in  the  west  front.  It  still  adheres  to  the  realistic  dry- 
ness of  the  corresponding  French  modelling.  The  double  but- 
tresses of  the  choir,  acting  together  as  they  do  by  reason  of  the 
arrangement  of  the  ground-plan,  and  differently  from  those  of 
the  nave,  which  act  separately,  are  still  treated  as  isolated  entities 
without  being  architecturally  connected.  Nor  is  the  connection 
of  the  flying-buttresses  with  the  main  wall  of  the  nave  in  all 
cases  premeditated,  but  the  abutment  is  effected  not  without 
detriment  to  the  finished  decorations  of  the  nave  walls.  At  the 
north  of  the  choir  the  decoration  of  the  buttresses  is  abridged, 
and  the  resulting  powerful  masses  of  this  buttress  system  are  not 
in  accord  with  the  elegance  and  grace  of  the  fenestration  ;  the 
effort  to  raise  this  heavy  structural  organism  to  an  ideally  artistic 
one,  which  was  the  evident  effort  of  the  master  here,  cannot  be 
pronounced  to  be  successful. 

A  third  epoch  in  the  history  of  this  monument  is  to  be  ob- 
served in  the  main  nave.  The  beginning  of  this  period  may  be 
placed  at  the  end  of  the  last;  that  is,  the  completion  of  the  choir 
and  the  foundation  of  the  nave  doubtless  still  falls  under  the 
management  of  the  master  John  mentioned  above. 

The  execution  betokens  (behundet)  a  new  effort  in  the  devel- 
opment of  the  system,  one  of  progress  in  the  main  features,  and 
of  deterioration  in  those  more  extraneous.  In  the  interior  piers 
of  the  nave  we  see  a  greater  vitality  in  developing  the  forms  in- 
dicated in  the  piers  of  the  choir.  It  consists  of  the  same  com- 
position, but  the  cylindrical  form  of  the  nucleus  of  the  piers  is 
perceptible  only  exceptionally,  the  connection  between  the  outer 
beads  being  effected  almost  universally  by  means  of  fillets  and 
coves,  the  most  concave  part  of  the  latter  standing  tangent  with 
the  circle  of  the  main  pier.  The  piers  between  the  aisles  are 
again  of  a  new  composition,  well  fitted  to  their  subordinate  posi- 
tion, and  to  equal  functional  action  in  all  directions.  They 
seem  to  be  developed  upon  a  square  nucleus,  which  remains  un- 
impaired in  the  channelling  connecting  the  outer  shafts,  which 
are  only  eight  in  number,  four  principal  columns  supporting  the 


CRITICISM, 


437 


main  arches,  and  four  subordinate  smaller  columns  supporting 
the  ribs.  This  whole  system  of  pier  deyelopmsnt  must  be  recog- 
nized as  belonging  to  the  most  refined  examples  of  Gothic  archi- 
tecture. The  bases  and  capitals  are  of  the  same  force  as  the 
earliest  members  of  this  kind,  but  yet  the  mouldings  are  less  sen- 
sitively treated,  and  the  foliage  betrays  the  mannerism  of  the 
later  Gothic  school.  The  ribs  and  arches  are  arranged  and  mod- 
elled like  those  of  the  choir,  but  betray  a  bloatedness  which  con- 
trasts unfavorably  with  the  severe  rigidity  of  these. 

The  extrados  of  the  main  nave  arches  is  decorated  with  a  ris- 
ing finial,  and  crockets  leading  up  to  the  same  in  imitation  of  the 
exterior  treatment  of  similar  parts  of  structure,  which  must  be 
accepted  as  a  deterioration  from  the  pure  system  manifested 
heretofore. 

Finally,  we  reach  the  western  fa9ade.  This  consists  of  two 
towers,  each  of  the  width  and  corresponding  with  the  two  side 
aisles.  Of  this  fa9ade  only  the  two  lower  stages  of  the  south 
tower  (up  to  the  roof  of  the  church),  and  but  inconsiderable  por- 
tions of  the  rest,  were  executed  during  the  epoch  of  the  mediaeval 
structure;  but  the  completed  plan  of  the  faQade  has  come  down 
to  us  unimpaired.  It  is  a  work  of  high  and  incomparable  devel- 
opment, the  master  of  which  is,  however,  unknown. 

If  there  was  a  completed  plan  at  the  beginning  of  the  building, 
there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  it  contemplated  a  similarly 
disposed  powerful  tower  fa9ade;  but  the  system  of  building  pur- 
sued at  that  time,  and  also  the  general  condition  of  architecture 
(more  especially  of  German  architecture  of  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century),  leads  to  the  conclusion  that  the  designs  of 
that  time  must  have  been  of  a  more  simple  severity,  and  likewise 
of  simpler  masses,  resembling  probably  the  character  of  the  fa- 
9ade  of  the  church  of  St.  Elizabeth  of  Marburg.  In  the  design, 
as  well  as  in  the  executed  parts  of  the  fagade  of  the  cathedral  of 
Cologne,  is  manifested  an  unconditional  and  thorough  system  of 
a  rising  buttress  architecture. 

Powerful  buttresses  project  on  the  corners  and  at  the  central 
piers,  also  easterly  on  the  south-east  and  the  north  corners  on  both 
sides,  covering  the  adjoining  aisle  windows,  which  fact  alone  is 
a  proof  of  the  unconditional  peremptoriness  of  this  buttress  sys- 
tem; while  in  the  central  piers  the  buttresses  are  less  massive. 


438 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


The  fayade  by  this  means  is  divided  into  five  parts  (corre- 
sponding with  the  interior  division),  the  principal  entrance  door 
in  the  center  of  a  powerful  pointed  window  above  the  same,  two 
windows  being  placed  in  each  of  the  tower  stories.  In  the  tower 
Ojoenings,  next  to  the  main  entrance  porch,  side  porches  are  in- 
troduced, a  somewhat  striking  arrangement,  yet  one  perfectly 
consistent  with  the  general  system  of  the  structure. 

Higher  up  above  the  central  part  of  the  fagade,  appears  the 
gable  of  the  main  roof,  and  above  the  wings  (Seitentheile*)  rise 
the  towers  disengaged  from  the  lower  subdivision,  with  a  central 
window  flanked  with  lesser  buttresses,  a  premonition  of  the  sub- 
sequent octagon,  while  the  pinnacles  of  the  lower  buttresses  rise 
alongside  in  slender  form. 

The  upper  structure  is  entirely  one  of  open-work,  consisting  of 
eight  openings  in  each  tower,  with  their  intervening  buttresses 
and  their  pinnacles  crowned  with  bold  gables  and  finials,  and 
above  this  the  spire,  its  corner  piers  united  with  tracery,  deco- 
rated with  crockets,  and  terminatiiig  in  a  finial  some  532  feet 
above  the  church  floor. 

In  continuous  succession  buttresses  with  their  respective  i^in- 
nacles  detach  themselves  from  the  general  mass,  and  shoot  up 
so  detached  like  the  outer  skin  of  a  fruit  or  flower,  out  of  which 
the  main  body  of  structure  continues  to  grow  with  renewed  vigor. 
There  is  in  these  masses  (of  the  fa9ade),  and  in  their  detail,  a 
visible  pulsation  of  life  which  greatly  contrasts  with  the  unmod- 
elled,  heavy  masses  of  the  side  buttresses. 

From  the  very  bottom  they  are  decorated  with  tracery  and 
slender  niches,  which  in  their  modelling  betray  the  masses  they 
decorate,  f  The  same  system  is  pursued  in  the  fenestration,  in 
the  rich  tracery  of  which  we  perceive  new  modifications  of  those 
of  the  choir,  as  we  also  do  in  the  modelling  of  the  jambs  in  the 
gables,  pinnacles,  and  the  traversing  horizontal  cornices.  The 
whole  is  pervaded  by  a  uniform  rhythm,  and  this  variety  of 
modelling  is  the  outcome  of  one  fundamental  law,  a  visible  art- 
istic premeditation. 

It  should  be  stated,  however,  that  the  total  expression  of  this 

*  Meaning  the  two  lower  stories  of  the  towers. 

f  This  may  be  questioned  in  the  light  of  the  previous  analysis  of  the  use 
of  tracery  as  a  method  to  express  the  vigor  of  waU-masses. 


CRITICISM. 


439 


production,  in  spite  of  its  logical  reasoning  and  unconditional 
sequence,  conveys  an  idea  of  rigidity  which  leads  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  falls  somewhat  short  of  full  and  expressive  (klarer) 
dignity. 

The  central  part  of  the  fa9ade  seems  compressed  between  the 
two  powerful  towers.  The  arrangement  of  the  three  portals 
serves  in  one  way  to  relieve  this  defect,  but  it  also  tends  in  an- 
other to  draw  attention  to  it,  and  the  tautology  of  forms  accru- 
ing from  the  insertion  of  the  gables  of  the  side  doors  into  the 
face  of  the  tower  windows  is  not  beautiful. 

The  open  spires,  like  all  works  of  this  kind,  perform  the  func- 
tion of  a  playful,  fantastic,  decorative  feature,  yet,  with  tbeir  gi- 
gantic dimensions,  it  will  be  difficult  to  overlook  their  material 
weight,  and  their  emphasized  sobriety  is  far  removed  from  the 
na'ive,  playful  movement  probably  attempted. 

The  interior  of  this  frontal  structure  is  treated  as  a  great  hall, 
the  central  portion  of  which  rises  to  the  height  of  the  nave,  while 
the  tower  part  is  divided  into  stories,  arranged  with  massive  piers 
and  hroad  arches.  The  mouldings  of  these  arches  and  ribs  run 
down  to  the  bases  of  the  piers — there  are  no  capitals.  This  ele- 
ment corresponds  with  the  Gothic  art  of  the  Ehine  as  prevalent 
about  the  year  1400.  The  sculptured  decorations  of  the  south 
portal  belong  to  the  same  epoch,  while  the  detail  of  the  exterior 
is  decidedly  in  the  character  of  the  work  of  the  early  portion  of 
the  fourteenth  century. 

We  may  conclude,  therefore,  that  a  considerable  time  elapsed 
between  the  designing  and  the  execution  of  the  fa9ade,  and  this 
assumption  is  further  confirmed  by  the  existence  of  isolated  vari- 
ations, from  the  original  designs,  which  bear  the  impress  of  a 
later  period.  Of  these  may  be  mentioned  various  tabernacles 
prescribed  by  the  original  design  in  the  second  story  of  the  main 
buttresses  (a  reminiscence  of  an  earlier  development,  as  exempli- 
fied in  the  cathedral  of  Strasburg),  which  in  the  execution  are 
entirely  omitted,  and  for  which  are  substituted  panels  of  tracery 
gabled  and  pinnacled,  which  belong  to  the  more  rigid  school 
of  a  later  period.  The  design  of  the  fagade  may,  therefore,  be 
placed  at  a  period  immediately  succeeding  the  completion  of  the 
choir,  say  the  second  quarter  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

The  vestry-room,  adjoining  the  north  side  of  the  choir,  is  a 


440 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


square  structure  of  considerable  magnitude,  containing  a  central 
pier,  the  mouldings  of  which  continue  into  the  arches  and  ribs, 
but  are  possessed  of  capitals.  Some  important  parts  of  the  struct- 
ure were  discovered  during  the  epoch  of  the  old  part  of  the 
building.  It  is  possible  that  no  thoroughly  digested  plan  existed 
by  which  they  could  have  been  executed.  These  are  mainly  the 
fayades  of  the  transepts.  Foundations  and  bases  of  the  same 
existed  in  the  facade  of  the  north  transept ;  they  were  of  less 
elegant  modelling  than  other  parts  of  the  building,  and  belong 
to  a  defective  effort  to  continue  the  work,  somewhere  toward  the 
close  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

The  j)resent  side  walls,  and  mainly  the  splendid  south  side 
elevation,  are  the  work  of  Zwirner,  under  whose  direction  the 
building  of  the  cathedral  has  been  recently  continued  in  a  man- 
ner fully  in  accord  with  its  original  art  system.  Nor  was  any- 
thing found  among  the  original  drawings  to  show  how  the  inter- 
section of  the  transepts  was  to  be  terminated  ;  but  as  the  nature 
of  the  transept  piers  did  not  indicate  a  heavy  central  tower,  an 
iron  turret  of  the  least  possible  weight  is  contemplated. 

The  essence  of  the  foregoing  criticism  of  the  cathe- 
dral of  Cologne  goes  to  show  that  its  early  architect 
had  mastered  the  best  French  works  preceding  his 
time,  and  had  with  judgment  selected  the  choir  of 
Amiens  for  the  starting-point  of  his  effort.  He  does 
not  inquire  whether  it  is  French  or  German,  but  ac- 
cepts his  model  as  the  best  attainment  of  the  times, 
rejecting  with  discrimination  subsequent  efforts  like 
that  of  Beauvais,  for  instance,  as  decadent. 

Nor  is  he  content  merely  to  copy  what  seems  to  him 
the  most  perfect  production  of  the  past,  but  he  de- 
velops his  structure  on  that  basis  in  obedience  to  a 
more  rigid  system  of  applied  construction  in  art  with 
unparalleled  success,  yet  not  without  partial  failure. 

His  successor,  who  designed  the  facade,  is  guided 
by  the  same  principle,  and  is  rewarded  with  more 


CRITICISM. 


441 


brilliant  results  (with  results  never  in  their  fullness 
attained  before  or  since),  yet  not  without  several 
notable  shortcomings  which  are  described  with  schol- 
arly exactness.  The  author  discovers  the  progress  and 
decline  of  the  modelling  of  the  interior  piers,  arches, 
and  ribs,  and  presents  the  history  of  this  art  progress 
with  a  technical  skill  which  betrays  thorough  famili- 
arity with  construction  as  a  science,  and  a  knowledge 
of  its  intimate  relation  to  art  expression. 

Let  us  see  what  Kugler  says  of  the  cathedral  of 
Milan : 

Deyiating  from  the  style  of  Italian  Gothic  is  tlie  cathedral  of 
Milan.  It  was  founded  in  1386,  and  completed  but  recently, 
after  many  vicissitudes  of  progress.  Yet,  some  few  details  ex- 
cepted, it  presents  a  whole  of  homogeneous  cast.  It  is  a  work  of 
northern  planning,  not  without  modifications  dictated  by  south- 
ern feeling. 

The  complicated  history  of  the  building  shows  frequently,  and 
in  important  places,  the  names  of  German  masters;  and  one  of 
these,  Heinrich  von  Gemunden,  is  accepted  to  have  been  its 
original  designer.  At  any  rate  the  fundamental  features  of  the 
design,  and  the  executed  work,  point  to  the  late  Gothic  of  Ger- 
many, and  the  most  characteristic  features  of  its  detail  to  a  simi- 
lar relation,  more  especially  to  that  Bohemian  and  Suabian 
school  whose  principal  work  is  the  cathedral  at  Prague,  the 
masters  of  which  monument  came  from  the  city  of  Gemiind. 
The  cathedral  of  Milan  is  distinguished  by  its  colossal  dimen- 
sions, its  splendid  material  (white  marble  throughout),  and  by 
the  clearness  of  its  arrangement,  and  also  by  the  multiplicity  of 
its  ornamental  decoration. 

The  total  effect  is  one  of  majesty,  of  a  powerful  copiousness  ; 
but  thorough  development  is  lacking,  the  same  as  in  the  German 
works  of  the  school  which  has  here  exercised  the  most  potent  in- 
fluence; and  the  modification  of  the  northern  system  to  adapt  it 
to  southern  wants  tends  here  to  a  further  bar  to  artistic  develop- 
ment.   The  ground-plan  is  perfectly  regular;  it  is  a  five-aisled 


442 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


longitudinal  structure,  traversed  by  a  three-aisled  transept, 
which  transept  terminates  at  either  end  with  a  small  three-sided 
apse.    The  choir  has  three  aisles  (with  vestry  rooms  on  either 
side,  which  arrangement  measurably  continues  the  five-aisled  or- 
ganism of  the  longitudinal  structure),  and  is  a  three-sided  apse, 
with  a  parallel  aisle  all  around  it.    The  aisles  are  of  considerable 
height,  and  rise  above  each  other  in  but  moderate  dimensions. 
At  the  intersection  of  the  nave  and  transepts  there  is  a  dome  of 
greater  height  than  the  nave,  which  dome  terminates  on  the  out- 
side with  a  steeple.    There  is  no  real  tower  anywhere,  probably 
in  deference  to  the  general  southern  custom.    The  dimensions 
are  :  interior  length,  448  feet  G  inches ;  total  width  of  aisles, 
175  feet  6  inches ;  nave,  52  feet  4  inches,  with  a  height  of 
147  feet  9  inches ;  height  of  aisles  next  to  nave,  97  feet,  and 
height  of  outer  aisles,  75  feet;  height  of  dome,  201  feet  Cinches  ; 
height  of  cupola  outside,  339  feet  6  inches.    The  interior  system 
shows  everywhere  modelled  piers,  the  modelling  consisting  of 
eight  pear-shaped   mouldings  of  the  not  beautiful  charac- 
teristic forms  of  the  Bohemio-Suabian    school.     In  place 
of    capitals    the    interior  piers  terminate    in  a  high  dec- 
orative tabernacle  structure.    This  splendid  structure,  however, 
interrupts  the  continuity  of  the  development  of  the  piers  in  its 
transition  toward  the  vaulting,  and  the  clustered  columns  carry- 
ing the  vault  ribs  rise  out  of  this  tabernacle  structure.  Even  more 
faulty  is  the  corresponding  arrangement  of  the  piers  separating 
the  side  aisles,  where,  by  reason  of  the  unequal  height  of  the 
spring  of  the  arches,  only  one  half  of  the  pier  retains  this  taber- 
nacle structure,  while  the  other  half  is  treated  somcAvhat  lower 
down  with  a  capital  of  ordinary  dimensions,  an  arrangement  det- 
rimental to  unity  of  expression.    The  clerc-story  walls  are  but 
of  inconsiderable  height.    They  are  pierced  with  small  pointed 
windows,  which,  by  reason  of  their  insignificant  dimensions,  bear 
no  reasonable  relation  to  the  large  mass  of  wall  width.  Circular 
or  equilateral  windows  would  have  been  much  more  appropriate. 
All  these  defects  arise  from  the  low  elevation  of  aisle  above  aisle, 
from  an  unusually  low  clere-story  wall,  for  the   treatment  of , 
which  no  precedent  existed,  and  from  the  lack  of  courage  or 
skill  on  the  part  of  the  architect  to  devise  such  a  treatment. 
As  for  the  general  effect,  however,  it  does  not  suffer  much 


CRITICISM, 


443 


from  this  cause.  The  great  height  of  the  aisles  and  their  near 
approach  to  equality  of  altitude  gives  prominence  to  the  colon- 
nade supporting  the  vaults,  and  leads  the  eye  toward  the  sides, 
where  the  light  enters  through  the  great  windows  of  the  side 
aisles  ;  and  the  force  of  the  tabernacle  structures  which  crown 
the  piers,  and  thereby  interrupt  the  structural  upward  motion, 
tends  to  confirm  this  effect.  There  is  an  incongruity  in  this 
peculiar  system,  yet  its  effect  is  not  sufficiently  intrusive  to  make 
it  prominent  and  decisive. 

The  side  windows  throughout  are  filled  with  splendid  tracery, 
the  design  of  which  is  most  perfect  in  the  windows  of  the  choir. 
The  external  surfaces  of  the  walls,  as  well  as  those  of  the  mode- 
rately projecting  buttresses,  are  covered  with  tracery,  crowned 
with  neat  gables  at  the  eaves  of  the  structure. 

Round  about  the  building  elegant  pinnacles  shoot  up  above 
the  cornice,  and  neatly  decorated  flying-buttresses  bridge  over 
the  somewhat  flat  aisle  roofs.  The  transept  tower  starts  from 
the  lantern  of  the  cupola.  It  is  very  slender,  and  is  surrounded 
with  pinnacles  at  the  foot. 

The  total  expression  of  the  exterior,  in  its  elegantly  decorated 
masses  and  abundance  of  frail  pointed  projections  upward,  is 
wonderful  and  fantastic. 

Only  the  fa9ade,  although  not  without  munificent  decorations, 
is  inferior  to  this  effect  of  the  rest  of  the  work.  It  is  of  the 
form  usual  in  Lombardi,  of  a  broad  homogeneous  mass  divided 
superficially  into  five  parts.  The  fenestration  in  arrangement 
and  form  is  pretty  and  mixed  with  forms  foreign  to  the  spirit  of 
the  structure.  It  is  executed  after  the  design  of  Pellegrino 
Tibaldi,  who  superintended  the  building  subsequent  to  1570. 

A  criticism  of  these  two  works  of  architectural  art, 
referring  to  the  idea,  acts,  emotions,  material,  and 
knowledge  of  construction  of  the  time,  as  well  as  to  a 
further  knowledge  of  the  aesthetic  expression  of  the  con- 
struction, with  a  view  to  elicit  the  art  force  manifested 
in  these  monuments,  should  be  ordered  somewhat  as 
follows : 

We  may  assume  that  the  idea  of  religion,  as  held  by 


444 


NATUBE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


the  Catholic  Churcli  during  the  thirteenth  century,  had 
undergone  no  material  change  during  the  succeeding 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ;  that,  furthermore,  the  acts  of 
the  Church,  to  illustrate  this  idea,  and  the  resulting 
groupings  and  emotions,  remained  essentially  the  same. 

If  the  technical  means  and  methods  had  not  been 
increased,  they  certainly  had  not  been  diminished ;  but 
whether  they  were  clearly  understood  by  the  architects 
of  the  cathedrals  of  Cologne  and  Milan  is  a  proper  sub- 
ject of  inquiry.  But  the  most  important  question  in 
the  interest  of  art  to  be  answered  by  a  comparison  of 
the  cathedrals  of  Cologne  and  Milan  is  to  what  de- 
gree these  structures  indicate  a  logical  aesthetic  develop- 
ment and  expression  of  structural  masses,  and  to  what 
extent  they  manifest  progress  or  decay  in  this  direction. 

To  understand  more  clearly  the  probable  views  of 
the  author  of  the  cathedral  of  Milan,  at  least  the  im- 
pressions which  may  have  influenced  his  mind  in  the 
design  of  his  work,  it  will  be  well  to  glance  over  the 
changes  which  Gothic  architecture  had  undergone  dur- 
ing the  century  intervening  between  the  conception  of 
Cologne  and  the  latter  part  of  the  fouii^eenth  century, 
more  especially  in  the  Eastern  German  school  of  Bo- 
hemia and  Suabia,  of  which  Kugler  says  Heinrich  von 
Gemunden  was  a  pupil. 

This  school  mainly  distinguished  itself  for  its  revolt 
against  conventional  structural  transitions  which  had 
been  heretofore,  and  have  since  again,  been  held  in 
high  estimation,  viz. :  the  moulded  base  and  the  capital. 

An  early  abandonment  of  the  capital  may  be  found 
in  Cologne  itself.  The  moulding  of  the  interior  piers 
of  the  Western  structure  (including  the  towers  and 
vestibule)  continues  through  the  arches  without  the 


CRITICISM. 


445 


intervention  of  a  capital  or  any  otter  feature  of 
transition.  Tlie  result  is  not  favorable  to  art  expres- 
sion, for  the  reason  that  the  value  of  force  and  ele- 
gance demanded  in  the  modelling  of  the  arches  cannot 
possibly  be  the  same  as  that  of  the  modelling  of  the 
piers.  In  the  language  of  taste  and  feeling,  the  effect 
is  stringy  and  weak,  meaning  that  it  is  inconsistent 
with  function,  and  lacking  an  emphatic  designation 
of  a  change  of  function  which  occurs  at  the  spring  of 
the  arch.  This  feeling  resulted  subsequently  not  in  a 
restoration  of  the  capital  and  a  Judicious  modelling  of 
the  piers  and  arches,  but  in  the  entire  abandonment 
of  all  modelling  of  the  piers. 

A  circular  or  octagonal  ground-plan  was  adopted, 
and  the  arch  mouldings  were  allowed  to  grow  directly 
out  of  these  circular  or  octagonal  piers.  This  doubtless 
was  a  gain  in  giving  expression  and  force  to  the  pier 
by  simplifying  its  form,  nor  can  the  lack  of  a  feature 
to  mark  the  point  of  transition  be  entirely  condemned, 
but  it  imparted  to  the  whole  organism  an  air  of 
naturalness  transcending  the  conventional  nature  of 
bonded  masonry.  The  bases  also  passed  through 
several  stages  of  stalactitic  modelling  which,  by  its 
variety,  novelty,  and  ingenious  complication,  pleased 
its  authors,  but  was  finally  abandoned,  and  the 
piers  were  permitted  to  grow  directly  out  of  the 
church  floor  without  any  member  indicating  construc- 
tive expansion  at  the  foot.  The  intersection  of  beads 
and  bottle  mouldings  is  also  an  invention  of  this 
school.  To  sum  up  the  mental  condition  which  sug- 
gested these  novelties,  we  may  accept  it  to  be  a 
state  of  dissatisfaction  with  existing  methods,  and 
the  inability  to  assign  the  true  cause  for  this  dis- 


446 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


satisfaction ;  hence,  a  want  of  success  in  attempted 
remedies. 

The  principal  act  of  the  Catholic  Chnrch,  or,  as  it  is 
called  in  the  technical  language  of  that  church,  the 
performance  of  the  service  (mainly  the  mass),  is  in  the 
cathedral  represented  by  the  cell  known  as  the  choir, 
the  chevet,  or  the  chancel.  The  choir  occupied  the 
whole  eastern  part  of  the  cathedral  immediately  adjoin- 
ing to  and  beyond  the  transept. 

The  scheme  of  dividing  the  body  of  the  cathedral 
into  nave  and  aisles  may  be  traced  to  a  desire  to  light 
the  body  of  the  church  through  the  clere-story,  both 
by  the  physical  necessity  of  the  case — the  light  being 
practically  needed — and  also  for  the  aesthetic  illumina- 
tion to  be  attained  in  this  way. 

In  fact  the  nave,  transept  (its  nave),  and  choir  (here 
also  the  central  part,  which  continues  the  longitudinal 
nave  is  meant)  constituted  the  main  nucleus  of  the 
interior  structure.  The  aisles  were  added  not  for  the 
purpose  of  accommodating  the  congregation  so  much 
as  to  serve  for  a  reasonable  and  convenient  passage 
around  the  central  functional  part  of  the  edifice  (the 
nave)  by  the  congregation,  and  by  visitors,  also  for 
the  habitual  processions  of  the  clergy,  as  is  indicated 
more  forcibly  by  the  German  term  attached  to  these 
aisles  {der  Tlmgang^  the  surrounding  passage),  as  well 
as  for  the  aesthetic  purpose  of  extending  the  vista  be- 
yond the  limited  boundaries  of  the  nave. 

In  spite  of  a  current  prejudice  of  our  own  time, 
which  finds  constant  expression  in  stigmatizing  medi- 
aeval churches  as  dark  and  gloomy,  the  cathedral  is  the 
best  lighted  and  most  abundantly  lighted  structure 
ever  erected  by  man. 


CRITICISM. 


447 


The  most  brilliant  result  of  this  method  of  lighting 
through  a  clere-story  is  to  be  found  in  the  conception 
of  the  transept,  by  means  of  which  a  great  flood  of 
light  from  the  south  is  introduced,  and  plays  the  part 
of  receding  the  choir  in  its  perspective,  and  subduing 
it  by  contrast  with  its  own  brilliancy  and  abundance 
of  illumination,  setting  it  back  as  it  were  into  a  dim 
mysterious  distance. 

This  scenic  effect  may  not  have  been  the  sole  motive 
— perhaps  it  may  not  have  been  the  motive  at  all — 
for  the  introduction  of  the  transept,  yet  it  was 
its  result ;  and,  as  a  happy  result  even  of  an  accidental 
arrangement  (if  any  one  should  choose  to  look  upon 
it  in  that  light),  it  must  have  been  known  to  mediaeval 
architects. 

A  cursory  glance  over  the  ground-plan  of  the 
cathedral  of  Milan  will  show  that  the  advantages 
of  this  feature  were  either  not  known  or  entirely 
overlooked  by  its  author.  The  choir  is  too  short 
for  the  performance  of  the  service,  and  the  area 
devoted  to  this  purpose  is  actually  extended  into 
the  transept,  and  the  choir  is  moreover  the  best  lighted 
part  of  the  church;  hence  it  is  brought  forward 
toward  the  nave,  to  the  detriment  of  perspective  and 
of  the  expression  of  interior  depth.  In  fact,  the  system 
of  lighting  the  interior  through  ^  clere-story  is  virtually 
abandoned.  The  clere-story  windows  are  so  small  and 
insignificant  that  their  existence  is  not  practically  or 
aesthetically  of  any  value  whatever. 

A  structural  development  like  that  of  St.  Stephen's 
at  Vienna  would  have  been  more  consistent  with  the 
ultimate  result,  and  infinitely  more  favorable  to  the 
roof  construction,  in  which  a  marble  roof  is  supported 


448 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


by  a  barrel  vault  resting  upon  tbe  clere-story  walls.  The 
lateral  strain  of  this  extraordinary  load  is  not  concen- 
trated upon  the  buttresses,  nor  is  it  considered  in  the 
arrangement  or  in  the  magnitude  of  these  buttresses 
and  their  adjuncts;  hence  the  necessity  for  the  iron 
rods  which  are  used  as  auxiliaries  to  the  abutment, 
an  expedient  unworthy  of  the  magnitude,  impoii:ance, 
and  splendor  of  the  monument.  We  observe  here  an 
almost  total  obliviousness  of  the  constructive  attain- 
ments of  the  past,  and  a  striking  impotence  in  meeting 
the  necessities  of  the  stone  roof — a  problem,  the  so- 
lution of  which  was  amply  contained  in  the  possibilities 
of  the  buttress  system  actually  applied.  If  we  com- 
pare the  art  force  displayed  in  the  conception  of  Milan 
with  the  art  force  manifested  in  Cologne,  we  are 
struck  with  the  conscientious  effort  shown  in  the  latter 
to  hold  fast  the  attainment  of  the  past,  in  selecting  the 
choir  of  Amiens  as  a  starting-point  of  operations,  and 
to  improve  the  modelling  of  structural  parts  in  the 
light  of  a  clear  conception  of  their  constructive  mean- 
ing. 

The  attempt  of  the  architect  of  Cologne  is  not  one 
to  do  something  novel,  striking,  odd,  or  gorgeous,  but 
to  do  all  that  is  made  possible  by  past  experience,  to 
do  this  as  well  as  it  had  been  done  heretofore,  to  avoid 
past  errors,  and,  if  possible,  to  refer  all  forms,  old  or 
new,  to  established  and  clearly  understood  construct- 
ive principles. 

This  is  not  meant  to  reflect  upon  the  architect  of 
Milan,  for  in  those  days  knowledge  existed  more  or 
less  as  a  tradition  merely,  and  a  century  of  practical 
deterioration  in  art  may  be  accepted  as  a  valid  excuse 
for  the  deterioration  of  the  individual  architect,  but 


CRITICISM. 


449 


tlie  analysis  of  a  monument  is  concerned  with  tlie  art 
force  displayed  in  it,  and  not  with  the  artist  who  de- 
signed it. 

When  we  examine  the  treatment  of  structural  parts 
in  Milan,  we  are  struck  first  with  the  fact  that  the 
piers  are  modelled  all  around  with  a  uniform  pear- 
shaped  moulding.  The  pier  is  treated  as  a  unit  of  equal 
structural  function  in  all  directions.  This  is  incon- 
sistent mth  the  facts  in  the  case.  In  the  dome  of 
Cologne  the  nave  piers  measure  6 -5  J"  in  the  direction 
of  the  nave  axis,  and  seven  feet  in  a  line  perpendicular 
to  the  same,  while  the  piei's  separating  the  aisles 
measure  5'-9i",  and  the  corner  piers  at  the  in- 
tersection of  the  nave  and  transepts  measure  8-11" 
respectively,  in  both  directions.  Again,  the  main 
arches  of  the  clere-story  walls  are  represented  in  the 
pier  by  three  shafts,  the  central  one  measuring  1-4" 
in  diameter,  flanked  on  each  side  with  a  shaft  of  6  J 
inches  in  diameter,  while  the  minor  arches  rest  upon 
a  single  shaft,  also  1-4"  in  diameter.  The  ribs  are 
supported  by  shafts  7  h  inches  in  diameter.  All  this 
shows  reflection  and  reference  to  function.  The  per- 
pendicular weights  of  the  arches  and  ribs  may,  it  is 
true,  be  collected  upon  one  unmodelled  shaft,  circular, 
square,  or  octagonal  in  form,  without  violence  to  artistic 
expression.  The  pier  may,  by  such  a  treatment,  lose 
force  or  elegance  of  expression,  and  yet  express  fully 
the  mechanical  work  performed ;  but  if  such  a  pier  is 
modelled  at  all,  the  arrangement,  relative  magnitude, 
and  form  of  the  mouldings  must  respond  to  the  mechan- 
ical work  performed  at  the  point  where  this  special 
modelling  is  done.  There  is  another  way  to  consider 
this  subject.    Modelling  of  a  structural  mass  has  for 


450  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


its  object  an  expression  greater,  more  emphatic,  or 
more  phonetic  in  its  character  than  the  expression 
of  strength,  elegance,  stability,  and  function  which 
could  be  conveyed  by  the  crude  mass  alone.  It  follows, 
therefore,  that  variety  of  function  in  the  crude  mass 
must  be  expressed  by  variety  and  magnitude  in  the 
modelled  forms.  If  this  is  not  done,  it  proves  clearly 
that  the  architect  has  not  mastered  an  elementary 
principle  of  aesthetics.  If  it  is  not  well  done,  it  shows 
either  ignorance  of  the  mechanical  functions  involved — 
perhaps  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  relative  mag- 
nitude of  these  functions — or,  finally,  an  inability  to 
exj)ress  the  value  of  the  respective  functions  in  corre- 
sponding modelled  members. 

The  architect  of  the  cathedral  of  Milan  shows  in  his 
work  that  he  intended  a  simple  circular  pier  to  do  the 
work  imposed  upon  it;  that  he  deemed  such  a  pier  not 
insufficient  in  expression,  but  insufficient  in  variety  of 
form;  he  thought  it  necessary  to  decorate  the  pier, 
but  did  not  know  that  decoration  or  modelling  has  for 
its  purpose  a  more  detailed  and  emphasized  explanation 
of  the  functions  performed;  hence  he  ranged  a  series 
of  unmeaning  pear-shaped  mouldings  symmetrically 
arouud  the  circular  nucleus  of  his  pier.  These  pear- 
shaped  mouldings  are  unmeaning  when  applied  to  a 
pier;  they  are  not  unmeaning,  however,  when  applied 
to  an  arch,  where,  when  bent  in  the  form  of  an  arch, 
they  express  an  elastic  rigidity  which  cannot  be  ap- 
proached by  any  other  known  moulding. 

This  same  imperfect  knowledge  of  functional  mean- 
ing is  displayed  in  the  use  of  the  above-mentioned 
tabernacle  structures,  which  are  evidently  intended 
to  cover  the  junction  of  the  arch  mouldings  of  the 


CRITICISM,  451 

vault  and  clere-story  wall  with  the  mouldings  of  tlie 
piers. 

Tabernacles  may  be  placed  almost  anywhere  upon 
a  structure,  always  provided  they  do  not  interfere  with 
the  action  of  a  functional  part.  The  shaft  or  the  wall- 
face  upon  which  they  are  built  must  visibly  continue 
behind  them.  The  south  transept  pier  of  the  cathe- 
dral of  Strasburg,  the  modelling  of  which  is  credited 
to  the  daughter  of  its  architect,  is  a  notable  illustra- 
tion of  this  principle. 

A  tabernacle  cannot  itself  serve  as  a  structural 
transition,  like  a  capital  or  a  bracket ;  whether  the 
architect  of  Milan  intended  his  tabernacles  to  serve  as 
a  substitute  for  capitals  or  not,  we  cannot  now  clearly 
determine ;  it  is  prohable,  however,  that  he  entertained 
an  indistinct  notion  that  the  introduction  of  the  taber- 
nacles in  the  place  where  we  find  them  was  sufficient  to 
conceal  a  structural  part  by  an  extraneous  ornamental 
one,  which  is  a  radical  architectural  heresy. 

The  vaults  of  Milan  cathedral  are  of  the  crudest 
nature ;  with  the  exception  of  slight  lunettes  over  the 
clere-story  windows,  they  are  nothing  more  than 
barrel- vaults.  This  defect  is  so  strongly  felt,  that  a 
decoration  consisting  in  a  scenic  painting  of  a  vaulting 
system  (filled  with  tracery  in  place  of  the  plain  cap- 
ping) has  been  introduced.  This  is  the  most  glaring 
decorative  deception  ever  attempted  in  a  mediaeval 
Gothic  structure. 

The  reasons  have  been  stated  in  the  last  chapter  why 
an  imitation  of  the  muUions  and  tracery  of  a  window 
cannot  be  applied  to  the  modelling  of  the  face  of  a 
wall,  or  at  least,  why  a  system  of  modelling  involving 
the  forms  of  muUions  and  tracery,  when  applied  to  the 


452 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


surface  of  a  wall  mass,  does  not  add  to,  but  ratlier  de- 
tracts from,  the  functional  expression  of  sucti  a  mass. 
Tlie  exterior  of  Cologne,  and  more  especially  that 
of  its  western  front,  demonstrates  how  much  expres- 
sion can  be  imparted  to  a  structure  by  ingenious 
changes  of  method  and  a  judicious  distribution  of  en- 
richment, even  under  the  guidance  of  a  system  intrinsi- 
cally false ;  but  Milan  demonstrates,  by  the  flimsiness 
and  uniformity  of  the  tracery  of  its  exterior,  a  per- 
fect want  of  intention  to  express  differences  of  me- 
chanical function.  It  is  a  mere  attempt  at  decoration 
without  meaning,  and  is  a  success  at  that.  It  fairly  re- 
sembles the  frosting  of  a  cake,  and  were  it  not  for  the 
extreme  whiteness  of  the  material,  which,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  certain  methods  of  lighting,  more  especially 
of  moonlight,  imparts  to  the  structure  a  sort  of  semi- 
translucency,  which  is  heightened  by  this  veil  of  tra- 
cery, it  could  not  fail  to  strike  observers  as  painfully 
trifling  in  effect. 

Both  Mr.  Fergusson  and  Mr.  Kugler,  kindly  express 
a  sort  of 'contented  resignation  in  the  face  of  the  inju- 
dicious lighting  of  the  dome  of  Milan,  no  light  being 
admitted  at  the  top  and  in  the  centre  of  the  structure, 
from  the  windows  of  the  clere-story,  and  too  much 
light  entering  from  below  through  the  side  windows, 
remarking  that  this  circumstance  imparts  to  the  monu- 
ment the  interesting  appearance  of  a  hall  {Halle),  a 
colonnaded  space.  This  fact  may  redeem  the  monu- 
ment as  a  structure,  but  it  cannot  redeem  it  as  a 
church,  the  purpose  of  which  always  must  be  to  serve 
a  congregation  of  persons  as  a  place  of  worship,  not  as 
a  temporary  transitory  passage  to  another  part  of  a 
structure  where  they  finally  intend  to  abide. 


CRITICISM. 


453 


The  abrupt  transition  from  the  lantern  to  tlie  turret 
or  steeple  surmounting  it  demands  a  constructive  ex- 
planation of  the  stability  of  the  latter  which  is  not 
rendered  in  the  inverted  flying-buttresses,  which  are 
evidently  designed  to  answer  that  purpose.  It  tells 
the  story  of  a  sudden  conviction  that  the  continuance 
of  an  octagonal  tower,  heretofore  contemplated,  must  be 
abandoned  by  reason  of  the  insufficiency  of  the  piers 
supporting  it,  and  the  artist,  abhorring  the  naked- 
ness of  a  roof,  beats  an  undignified  aesthetic  retreat 
under  cover  of  an  insignificant  steeple,  sustained  by 
impossible  flying-buttresses,  resting  upon  insufficient 
abutments. 

There  is  in  Milan  no  feature  more  significant  of  the 
mechanical  and  artistic  shortcomings  of  its  author  than 
this  that  the  transept  piers  are  of  the  same  size  and 
form  as  the  other  piers  of  the  nave.  Even  if  no 
central  tower — if  no  central  cupola — ^had  been  con- 
templated in  the  original  design,  the  exigencies  of 
the  structure,  without  these  subsequent  additions,  de- 
mand a  difference  in  the  size  and  modelling  of  these 
piers,  as  we  find  it  in  Cologne  and  in  many  other  con- 
temporary churches. 

We  may  close  with  the  words  of  Burckhardt : 
"  The  cathedral  of  Milan  is  an  instructive  example 
which  teaches  the  distinction  between  an  artistic  and  a 
fantastic  impression.  The  latter  may  be  enjoyed  here 
without  stint;  a  translucent  marble  mountain,  im- 
ported from  the  quarries  of  Oranavasco,  magnificent  by 
day  and  fairy-like  by  moonlight ;  without  and  within 
loaded  with  sculpture  and  painted  glass ;  rich  in  his- 
toric reminiscences  of  endless  variety — a  whole,  the 
like  of  which  the  world  has  nothing  to  show.  But 


454  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


lie  who  is  in  search  of  ideas  embodied  in  material 
forms,  and  who  knows  of  the  designs  which  have 
never  been  carried  into  execution,  while  the  Duomo 
of  Milan  was  completed  by  the  sacrifice  of  gigantic 
means,  cannot  contemplate  this  structure  without 
pain." 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTUEE. 

The  cultivation  of  architecture  is  made  difficult  in 
tlie  outset  by  the  errors  and  prejudices  which  surround 
the  subject,  and  which  must  be  discarded  before  the 
mind  of  the  student  can  be  sufficiently  receptive  of  the 
truths  and  principles  involved.  Architecture,  asunder- 
stood  at  present,  cannot  be  said  to  rest  upon  a  scien- 
tific or  logical  basis.  It  is  at  best  but  a  heterogeneous 
collection  of  empirical  formulae,  which  tend  to  mislead 
rather  than  to  instruct. 

Knowledge  is  derived  from  phenomena  (matter  and 
its  motion).  We  see  and  hear  what  is  going  on  around 
us,  and  from  this  sensuous  perception  we  learn.  But 
as  matter  appears  to  us  in  diversified  forms,  and  is  sub- 
ject to  equally  diversified  motions,  and  as  our  senses 
furnish  but  imperfect  means  of  perception,  it  is  the 
function  of  science  to  classify  phenomena  with  relation 
to  the  causes  by  which  they  are  produced,  and  to  guard 
the  inquiry  at  every  step  against  errors  of  sensuous 
perception. 

Architecture  deals  with  forms  classified  chronologi- 
cally, but  not  under  any  system  which  involves  their 
causes,  or  the  principles  upon  which  they  have  been 
developed,  or  the  ideas  which  they  represent.  If  the 
student  of  mechanical  engineering  were  sent  into  the 
455 


456 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


world  to  examine  machines  as  lie  finds  them  in  opera- 
tion, or  depicted  in  books,  with  no  other  guide  than 
the  dates  of  their  construction,  ^\dth  directions  to  select 
those  which  seem  to  him  useful,  without  being  informed 
beforehand  of  the  principles  of  mechanics,  the  nature 
of  the  lever,  the  inclined  plane,  the  cog-wheel,  the 
pulley,  and  the  application  of  these  elements  of  ma- 
chinery to  mechanical  work,  the  result  would  be  that 
mechanical  engineers  would  select  machines  to  please 
their  own  fancy  or  that  of  their  clients — machines  which 
answer  the  j)urpose  indifferently,  or  perhaps  not  at  all — 
and,  also,  that  no  new  machines  would  be  created. 
This  is  precisely  the  condition  under  which  the  student 
of  architecture  pursues  a  knowledge  of  art,  and  this 
is  the  sort  of  judgment  by  which  he  applies  art  forms. 
He  examines  the  rzpertoire  of  past  completed  art 
forms,  and  selects  from  these  what  may  please  his  fancy 
or  that  of  his  client. 

The  student  of  architecture  believes  at  the  outset 
that  he  is  possessed  of  taste  for  the  art,  which  is  the 
first  and  greatest  hindrance  to  the  study  of  architect- 
ure, and  no  progress  is  possible  until  this  radical  error 
is  corrected. 

Taste,  in  one  of  the  senses  in  which  it  is  used,  means 
a  love  for  practical  architecture,  or,  in  other  words, 
the  candidate  for  a  professional  career  thinks  that  he 
would  prefer  to  be  an  architect  rather  than  a  lawyer, 
a  clergyman,  an  engineer,  or  a  physician.  The  causes 
of  this  preference  are  numerous.  They  are  rarely  to 
be  found  in  a  knowledge  of  the  true  import  of  these 
various  professional  vocations,  nor  of  the  training  they 
demand.  Most  frequently  the  reason  for  this  love  of 
architecture  is  somewhat  like  this :  Architecture  is  an 
• 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  457 


art,  and  therefore  a  matter  of  taste.  Taste  is  supplied 
by  bountiful  Nature.  Hence,  there  is  no  need  of  a  long 
course  of  theoretical  training.  Architectural  art  may 
be  acquired  in  the  office  of  a  practicing  architect, 
where,  the  daily  work  being  done,  one  is  not  subject 
to  periodical  examinations,  which  are  a  bore.  The 
profession  is  not  supposed  to  be  as  precarious  in  its 
financial  results  as  painting  or  sculpture,  for  structures 
of  some  kind  are  an  absolute  necessity,  and  if  one  can- 
not attain  to  the  building  of  monuments,  he  may  well 
content  himself  with  erecting  dwellings,  warehouses, 
hotels,  and  the  like. 

A  clear  comprehension  of  the  technical  studies  which 
the  architect  must  master  would  materially  reduce  the 
number  of  our  students.  On  the  continent  of  Europe, 
where  these  studies  are  obligatory,  the  number  of 
aspirants  is  much  smaller  than  in  England  and  the 
United  States,  where  a  man  may  set  up  as  an  archi- 
tect, and  be  received  as  such  by  the  community,  with- 
out any  preparation  whatever.  In  the  next  place,  taste 
is  imagined  to  mean  a  sound  judgment  implanted  by 
nature  in  the  human  mind,  which  enables  one  to  dis- 
tinguish bad  from  good  art  wherever  he  finds  it,  includ- 
ing, of  course,  his  own  compositions  on  paper.  Were 
this  true,  how  would  taste  help  the  composition  of  or- 
ganisms of  any  kind,  beyond  condemning  them  when 
they  appear  bad  ?  Taste,  at  best,  could  merely  be  a  pro- 
tection against  bad  work,  and  not  a  guide  to  good  work. 
To  compose  organisms,  we  need  some  knowledge  of 
the  idea  to  be  expressed,  of  the  natural  laws  pertaining 
to  matter  and  its  relation  in  organic  combination,  to 
the  end  that  it  may  perform  given  functions.  No 
amount  of  taste  can  supply  the  place  of  this  knowledge. 


458 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


The  fallacy  of  all  this  has  been  shown  in  previous 
chapters,  and  it  only  needs  here  to  be  stated  that  when 
a  person  at  the  time  he  is  choosing  a  professional  career 
suspects  himself  of  natural  taste,  with  a  strong  belief 
that  this  taste  alone  will  make  him  an  artist,  the  short- 
est road  to  success  in  life  is  to  avoid  art  entirely,  and 
to  select  a  science,  trade,  or  mercantile  pursuit — any- 
thing but  art. 

The  next  serious  error  of  the  modem  architect  is, 
that  immediate  popular  approval  is  the  only  test  of  the 
excellence  of  his  work.  He  carries  this  belief  so  far, 
as  to  reject  in  practice  the  use  of  all  architectural  forms 
which  have  not  been  popularly  approved. 

If  it  is  remembered  that  architecture  is  the  expres- 
sion of  ideas,  and  therefore  a  method  of  instruction,  it 
follows  that  its  forms  can  be  popular  only  when  the 
ideas  conveyed  are  generally  understood.  A  desire  for 
immediate  recognition,  therefore,  of  the  merits  of  archi- 
tecture must  become  subversive  of  progress  in  that  art. 
But  even  in  cases  where  the  idea  to  be  expressed  is 
popularly  accepted  as  true,  the  architect  fails  to  rejDre- 
sent  it  in  his  monuments,  for  fear  that  the  forms  ex- 
pressing it  will  not  please  his  patrons.  This  is  mainly 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  modern  architect  and  the 
public  both  imagine  architectural  forms  to  be  inde- 
pendent of  ideas.  The  relation  between  the  idea  and 
the  form  has  been  so  long  neglected  that  the  idea  has 
now  ceased  to  be  the  essence  and  cause  of  forms.  The 
forms  themselves  are  supposed  to  possess  the  quality  of 
exciting  pleasure  for  reasons  not  defined  but  imagined 
to  be  concealed  in  the  inspirations  of  individual  taste. 
Hence,  the  erroneous  belief  that  the  only  test  of  their 
art  value  is  in  their  popular  acceptance. 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  459 


Anotlier  popular  error  sliared  by  many  arcMtects 
is,  that  tlie  general  effect  produced  by  an  architectural 
drawing  is  a  criterion  of  the  merit  of  the  monu- 
ment which  this  drawing  represents.  While  the 
architect  is  composing  a  monument,  he  is  assisted  in 
the  process  by  notes  in  the  form  of  geometrical  draw- 
ings, which  notes  help  him  to  keep  in  mind  the  rela- 
tionship of  parts  of  his  structure,  to  fix  in  permanent 
form  what  is  determined  upon,  and  hence  to  advance 
to  what  remains  to  be  thought  out.  These  geometrical 
drawings,  unfortunately,  bear  a  certain  semblance  to 
the  completed  structure,  which  semblance  is  supposed 
to  convey  an  intelligible  idea  of  the  monument  it  sig- 
nifies. That  this  is  not  the  case  may  be  shown  in 
various  ways.  Let  us  consider,  first,  the  most  super- 
ficial characteristic  of  these  drawings,  the  manner  of 
their  execution,  and  we  find,  by  practical  experience, 
that  all  drawings  executed  differently  from  the  pre- 
vailing practice  fail  to  convey  correct  impressions  of 
intrinsic  art  merit,  as  for  instance,  the  original  de- 
signs of  mediaeval  work  still  extant  and  old  engravings 
of  the  Renaissance  period;  the  former,  because  they 
are  indifferent  pen-and-ink  drawings  when  compared 
with  modern  work  of  a  similar  kind,  and  the  latter, 
because  they  are  superb  line  engravings,  treated  in  a 
more  rigid  style  than  the  drawings  of  the  present  day. 
Neither  of  these  convey  to  us  promptly  a  precise  idea 
of  the  excellence  of  the  monuments  which  they  repre- 
sent. Badly  executed  drawings,  moreover,  often  rep- 
resent superior  architectural  monuments,  while  other 
drawings,  artistically  or  elaborately  executed,  are 
merely  notes  of  ill-digested  ideas  and  of  bad  construc- 
tion.   Yet,  the  immediate  impression  made  upon  the 


460  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


architect  is  afiEected  by  the  technical  excellence  or  the 
defects  of  execution,  while  a  just  appreciation  of  the 
intended  monument  which  they  represent  is  acquired 
only  after  a  close  and  long-continued  critical  examina- 
tion and  analysis  of  architectural  drawings.  All  archi- 
tects are  familiar  with  the  importance  of  what  is  known 
as  depth  in  the  modelling  of  masses,  yet  geometrical 
drawings  convey  no  idea  of  this  important  element ;  we 
have  to  search  for  it  in  sections  w^here,  again,  it  is  not 
so  represented  as  to  show  its  true  import  Avithout  re- 
sorting to  actual  measurement  and  the  forming  of  a 
picture  of  its  results  in  our  mind.  A  geometrical 
drawing  represents  every  point  of  a  structure  as  it  ap- 
pears on  a  level  with  the  eye ;  the  completed  build- 
ing, on  the  other  hand,  presents  different  values  for 
different  levels,  which,  to  be  correctly  understood, 
must  be  estimated. 

No  architectural  drawing  conveys  an  idea  of  the 
manner,  method,  or  efficiency  of  a  system  of  lighting  of 
the  interior  of  a  structure.  We  cannot  tell  by  merely 
looking  at  an  architectural  design  whether  an  interior 
will  be  ill  or  well  lighted,  nor  whether  the  bulk  of  the 
light  represented  will  be  so  distributed  as  to  serve 
physical  needs  or  subserve  £esthetic  demands. 

It  appears  from  the  foregoing,  therefore,  that  an 
architectural  drawing  contains  but  slight  indications  of 
the  nature  of  the  monument  which  it  is  intended  to 
represent,  and  that  the  leading  elements  which  consti- 
tute good  architecture,  while  they  may  be  detected  in 
such  a  drawing  by  skillful  analysis,  are  not  directly 
apparent.  Something,  however,  that  relates  to  the 
building  is  still  visible,  and  this  tends  to  mislead  rather 
than  to  instruct,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  draw- 


TEE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE,  461 


ings  of  it  are  not  equal,  in  their  magnitude,  to  that  of 
the  structure  itseK,  but  are  prepared  upon  a  reduced 
scale.  It  has  been  shown  in  a  previous  chapter  that 
architectural  masses  do  not  increase  in  a  geometrical 
ratio  with  the  magnitude  of  a  monument,  but  in  ac- 
cordance with  certain  mechanical  laws  which  pre- 
scribe various  ratios;  it  follows,  therefore,  that  the 
drawing  of  a  monument  reduced  in  scale,  which  means 
one-half,  one-quarter,  one-tenth,  or  one-twelfth  of  the 
actual  size  of  the  monument,  conveys  the  idea  of  exag- 
gerated supports  to  apparent  loads,  and,  hence,  is  no 
correct  picture  of  the  relation  of  its  masses.  A  per- 
spective view,  although  better  adapted  to  convey  ideas 
of  depth  than  a  geometrical  drawing,  also  partakes  of 
these  defects,  and  is,  therefore,  to  be  rejected  as  a  fair 
representation  of  the  aesthetic  expression  of  a  monu- 
ment. 

In  truth,  the  architect  who  does  not  in  his  composi- 
tion constantly  revert  to  the  actual  structure  by  analy- 
sis and  reference  to  laws  of  construction,  but  who 
permits  himself  to  be  led  by  the  effect  of  his  drawing 
as  it  grows  under  his  hand,  and  who  is  willing  to  ac- 
cept impressions  from  it  alone  as  a  guide  in  design, 
must  fail  in  the  result  of  his  art  efforts. 

When  we  consider  the  inefficacy  of  architectural 
drawings  to  convey  a  correct  or  even  an  approximate 
idea  of  an  intended  monument  to  an  experienced 
architect,  it  seems  truly  preposterous  for  a  layman  to 
attempt  to  judge  of  architecture  from  mere  drawings, 
and  this  attempt  is  most  detrimental  to  the  cultivation 
of  the  art  in  modern  practice. 

The  reputation  of  an  architect,  the  art  displayed  in 
his  executed  works,  should  be  sufficient  for  patrons  of 


462 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


architecture  in  selecting  professional  aid,  the  same  as 
it  is  in  all  other  professional  employments.  If  the 
layman  cannot  judge  of  the  probable  merit  of  an 
architect's  future  work,  from  the  work  he  has  done  in 
the  past,  how  is  he  to  do  so  from  a  design  ?  No  one 
presumes  to  judge  of  the  ability  of  a  lawyer  from  his 
briefs,  or  of  that  of  a  physician  from  his  prescriptions. 
The  architect  alone  is  expected  to  submit  designs  to 
the  approval  of  laymen,  who  do  not  understand  the 
nature  of  those  designs,  but  who  think  that  they  do, 
because  of  the  accidental  resemblance  of  these  designs 
to  the  monuments  to  which  they  refer. 

Next  to  the  delusion  that  all  men  are  endowed 
with  taste  which  enables  them  to  judge  in  matters  of 
art,  the  practice  of  submitting  architectural  designs 
to  the  approval  of  laymen,  which  has  partially  grown 
out  of  this  error,  has  become  a  hindrance  to  the 
development  of  architecture.  We  find  a  parallel  to 
architectural  drawing  in  those  of  mechanical  engineer- 
ing and  ship-building.  Technical  drawings  here  like- 
wise bear  a  semblance  to  the  objects  they  relate  to. 
No  man  not  versed  in  the  science  of  mechanics  or  in 
marine  architecture  will  judge  of  the  merit  of  such 
designs  from  drawings,  more  especially  when  a  mate- 
rial interest  may  be  injured  by  defective  judgment. 
Yet  the  scientific  principles  involved  in  the  considera- 
tion of  the  static  relation  of  matter  in  an  architectural 
monument  are  much  more  obscure  and  inaccessible  to 
the  unprofessional  mind  than  the  laws  relating  to  the 
dynamics  of  a  machine.  The  relation  of  scientific 
construction  to  aesthetic  expression,  the  constructive 
significance  of  modelling,  of  carved  decoration,  and  of 
the  application  of  color  to  parts  of  structure,  are  mat- 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  463 


ters  wliicli  are  but  little  understood,  or  even  regarded, 
by  persons  outside  of  tbe  profession,  and  it  is  but  just 
to  admit  that  these  things  are  not  even  generally 
understood  by  the  professional  architect.  Finally,  the 
organization  of  a  monument,  the  arrangement  and  me- 
chanical connection  of  its  single  cells,  the  selection  of 
fitting  constructive  methods  to  express  given  emotions, 
are  matters  which  affect  architectural  designs  not  only 
in  the  ultimate  appearance  of  the  elevations  and  sec- 
tions, but  in  the  fundamental  arrangement  of  the 
ground-plans,  all  of  which  is  often  overlooked  by  the 
architect,  and  rarely  ever  considered  by  a  non-profes- 
sional man.  In  fact,  the  examination  by  laymen,  of  an 
architectural  design  is  almost  universally  confined  to 
those  qualities  of  it  which  relate  to  the  gratification  of 
the  physical  demands  made  upon  the  structure,  to  a 
proper  economy  of  space,  material,  and  labor,  and  to 
the  matter  of  beauty  only  so  far  as  the  general  ap- 
pearance of  the  design  seems  to  promise  it,  and  these 
promises  we  have  learned  to  recognize  as  delusive. 
The  notion  that  an  architectural  design  in  its  organic 
features  contemplates  physical  necessities  only,  and 
that  its  beauty  is  something  afterward  superficially 
added,  seems  to  be  universal  with  laymen,  and  serves 
them  as  a  recognized  principle  in  all  building  enter- 
prises. It  is  a  common  practice  throughout  the  civil- 
ized world  to  invite  architects  to  prepare  designs 
subject  to  the  examination  of  persons  who  are  in 
charge  of  building  enterprises,  and  who  determine  the 
employment  of  an  architect  with  sole  reference  to 
their  judgment  of  the  merit  of  the  designs  submitted. 
The  fact  that  important  and  costly  building  enter- 
prises are  thus  initiated  clearly  shows  that  the  persona 


464 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


intrusted  with  tliem  are  willing  to  assume  responsibil- 
ities involving  professional  intelligence  of  a  liigli  order, 
for  it  is  more  difficult  to  analyze  correctly  a  completed 
design  than  to  prepare  one.  Tlie  most  superficial 
knowledge  of  the  subject  forbids  such  a  proceeding ; 
it  imperils  the  best  interests  of  the  scheme  in  the  out- 
set. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  speak  in  detail  of  the  de- 
moralizing results  of  this  practice.  They  have  been 
often  discussed  and  are  pretty  well  known,  at  least  to ' 
the  profession.  We  may  regret,  however,  that  archi- 
tects who  are  able  to  render  solid  service  to  society 
should  submit  to  this  system,  and  thereby  sacrifice  the 
best  interests  of  their  ai*t.  No  other  professional  man 
but  the  architect  consents  to  submit  schemes  of  his 
work  in  competition.  He  alone  volunteers  this  de- 
grading service,  to  the  great  injury  of  his  personal 
interests,  his  fair  standing  in  society,  his  independence, 
and  his  art.  A  few  men  who  lead  the  profession  in 
the  principal  cities  of  the  world  only  need  to  say  that 
they  will  discontinue  this  practice  in  order  to  put  an 
end  to  it. 

There  is  among  architects  and  amateurs  a  world  of 
talk  about  feeling,  proportion,  harmony,  unity,  and 
picturesqueness,  which  should  be  abandoned  at  once, 
unless  it  can  be  defined  to  mean  some  tangible  relation 
of  structural  elements.  It  is  the  language  of  the 
mountebank  or  the  dupe,  and,  to  the  credit  of  the  pro- 
fession, it  may  be  stated  that  it  is  most  frequently  the 
latter.  The  amount  of  ecstasy  which  is  extracted  from 
these  windy  elements  by  enthusiastic  students  is  really 
marvelous.  An  art-work  is  the  outcome  of  sound 
logical  reasoning,  of  long-continued  study,  of  technical 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE,  465 


knowledge,  of  muct  labor,  of  close  application  and  in- 
dustry, and,  above  all,  tlie  outcome  of  cool  head  and 
strong  nerves,  which  enable  the  artist  at  every  step  to 
recur  to  his  knowledge  of  the  subject,  or  to  search  for 
knowledge  where  deficient.  Undue  enthusiasm,  which 
means  unbalanced  nervous  action,  feeling  and  sentiment, 
which  mean  prejudice  and  unguarded  judgment,  are 
seriously  detrimental  in  the  pursuit  of  fine"  art.  Feel- 
ing and  enthusiasm  in  the  aspiring  artist  are  useful  only 
as  incentives  to  labor. 

Let  it  be  remembered  that  the  wonderful  art  effects 
produced  upon  the  stage  by  great  dramatic  actors  and 
actresses  are  methods  of  motion  and  recital  carefully 
practiced  in  accordance  with  the  teaching  of  some 
master,  who  himself  is  rarely  a  performer,  but  who  has 
studied  the  author  and  carefully  interpreted  his  mean- 
ing; who  has  determined  the  acts  which  illustrate  his 
ideas,  and  framed  them  into  living  pictures  by  depict- 
ing the  emotions  which  are  the  results  of  these  acts. 
To  accomplish  this  end  the  actor  must  commit  his  part 
to  memory.  If  his  mind  is  occupied  by  listening  atten- 
tively to  the  prompter,  he  cannot  perform  with  that 
freedom  of  action  which  is  desirable.  As  to  what  is 
vulgarly  known  as  stage  business,  the  moving  about 
from  place  to  place,  it  must  be  purely  the  result  of 
study ;  if  two  or  more  actors  were  left  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  their  own  intelligence  and  feeling  as  to  their 
position,  there  would  be  no  concert  of  action,  and  all 
would  be  confusion  and  discord.  It  is  clear,  therefore, 
that  the  great  bulk  of  artistic  performance  is  the  result 
of  technical  knowledge,  technical  study  and  labor,  and 
a  very  small  part  of  personal  feeling  and  enthusiasm, 
and  that  this  small  part  is  expended  in  the  apprecia- 


466 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


tiou  of  prescribed  and  predetermined  emotions,  and  in 
studied  methods  of  rendering  tliem.  It  cannot  be 
otherwise,  for  art  is  the  premeditated  representation  of 
an  idea  in  matter,  and  the  process  of  premeditated  action 
of  any  land  means  knowledge,  technical  skill,  study 
and  labor  first  and  foremost.  The  understanding  of 
the  emotions  involved,  to  be  efficient,  must  also  not  be 
the  mere  result  of  feeling  and  sentiment,  but  in  great 
part  that  of  logical  analysis. 

A  musical  composition  and  performance  ^vill  illus- 
trate this  perhaps  more  clearly.  The  musical  per- 
former, before  he  can  render  music  by  his  instrument, 
must  first  be  a  perfect  machine.  He  must  be  correct 
in  rendering  the  score  before  he  can  attempt  to  play 
with  feeling;  he  must  have  mastered  the  technic  of 
manipulation  before  he  can  succeed  in  rendering  the 
score.  If  he  further  desires  to  compose  music,  he  must 
acquire  a  theoretical  if  not  a  practical  knowledge  of 
the  technic  and  capabilities  of  every  instrument  that  is 
used  in  an  orchestra.  He  mnst  then  master  the  theory 
of  composition,  which  is  mainly  mathematical.  To 
render  religious,  patriotic,  or  social  ideas  in  music,  he 
must  be  familiar  with  these  ideas  as  they  appear  in 
history  or  in  poetry.  Thus  the  process  of  composing 
and  performing  music  is  made  up  of  a  vast  amount  of 
theoretical  and  technical  knowledge  and  of  technical 
skill  which  is  the  result  of  practice,  of  long  years  of 
untiring  industry.  The  musician  must  be  possessed 
of  feeling  also.  There  are  delicate  shades  of  rendering 
musical  compositions  which  no  score  can  convey.  But 
to  understand  the  nature  of  these,  and  to  render  them 
successfully,  great  technical  knowledge  and  skill  are 
again  indispensable.    Let  us  imagine  a  number  of 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  467 


musical  enthusiasts,  men  who  go  into  convulsions  at  a 
discord,  and  talk  critically  of  the  opera  and  the  oratorio, 
but  who  have  no  technical  knowledge  of  music,  attempt- 
ing to  perform  an  overture.  All  the  feeling  and 
enthusiasm  in  the  world  will  not  enable  them  to  do  so. 

Something  very  near  akin  to  this  is  done  practically 
in  architecture,  and  has  been  so  done  since  the  end  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  when  architecture  ceased  to  be 
a  living  art.  Hordes  of  enthusiasts,  ignorant  or  inten- 
tionally oblivious  of  the  knowledge  which  governs  the 
creation  of  architectural  monuments,  have  been  let 
loose  upon  society,  possessed  with  the  idea  that  their 
feeling,  sentiment,  and  taste  suffice  for  the  composition 
of  architectural  work.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore, 
that  architecture  is  now  in  the  chaotic  state  in  which 
we  find  it,  a  ship  without  sails  or  compass  expected  to 
reach  a  safe  harbor  by  the  sole  efforts  of  the  man  at 
the  helm. 

What  should  be  impressed  on  the  mind  of  the  archi- 
tect is  that  architectural  forms,  like  all  art  organisms, 
and  like  the  organisms  of  nature,  are  the  result  of  en- 
vironments. His  efforts  must  be  mainly  directed  to 
his  own  equation,  that  he  himseK  may  not  become  a 
detrimental  environment  in  the  process  of  artistic  cre- 
ation by  either  misunderstanding  the  nature  of  envi- 
ronments, or  by  ignoring  them,  or  by  a  failure  to  re- 
spond to  them  promptly,  effectually,  and,  if  possible, 
skillfully.  It  is  not  the  function  of  the  architect  to  pro- 
duce effects  ;  he  should  permit  effects  to  be  produced  by 
the  organism  he  creates.  He  cannot  judge  of  the  effects, 
which  should  be  the  final  result  of  an  organism,  before 
the  organism  is  complete.  The  relation  of  the  architect- 
ural monument,  so  far  as  its  architect  is  concerned,  is  to , 


468  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


the  idea  only  which  is  to  be  expressed  in  matter. 
The  effect  is  the  result  of  this  relation ;  of  which  the  idea 
is  the  hypothesis,  its  relation  to  material  and  construc- 
tion is  the  argument,  and  the  effect  the  conclusion, 
which  cannot  be  approached  except  through  this  argu- 
ment. Any  effort  to  anticipate  this  process  must  result 
in  an  effect  which  is  the  result  of  some  other  idea  ex- 
pressed in  matter. 

That  the  architect  may  fully  understand  the  scope 
and  bearing  of  the  ideas  which  constitute  the  prime  ele- 
ments of  the  art  he  deals  with,  he  should  have  a 
comprehensive  knowledge  of  the  human  relationships 
with  which  architectural  ideas  are  concerned.  Here 
we  frequently  meet  mth  a  representative  prejudice 
pertaining  to  the  knowledge  of  ideas  in  architecture, 
especially  with  reference  to  church  architecture.  It 
is  held  that  the  architect  should  be  a  partisan  of  the 
creed  or  sect  for  which  he  designs  a  monument,  for 
the  reason  that  only  in  this  case  can  he  be  familiar 
with  the  requirements  of  this  special  church,  or,  in 
other  words,  that  to  build  a  good  Catholic  church  it 
needs  a  good  Catholic,  and  to  build  a  good  Protes- 
tant church,  a  good  Protestant. 

If  we  concern  ourselves  with  the  physical  needs  of 
the  church  only,  and  assume  that  the  architect  is  not 
possessed  of  any  information  pertaining  to  religious 
ideas  in  general  excepting  those  furnished  by  his 
church,  it  is  fair  to  presume  that  the  architect  not 
familiar  with  the  practical  working  of  a  special  church 
would  not  be  able  to  carry  out  the  scheme  without 
much  cramming  and  preparation.  But  when  we  con- 
sider the  art  process  of  expressing  an  idea  in  matter,  it 
will  be  found  that  a  person  without  a  philosophic 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  469 


knowledge  of  the  religious  idea  would  not  answer  tte 
purpose  at  all,  whether  he  subscribed  to  the  creed  under 
consideration  or  not.  If  you  wish  to  learn  how  to 
print,  you  would  go  to  a  printer,  and  not  rest  content 
with  an  examination  of  a  printed  sheet.  The  impres- 
sions you  will  find  there  are  insufficient  to  give  a 
clew  to  the  process.  There  is  much  to  be  learned  of 
the  functions  of  the  tympanum,  the  overlay  and  under- 
lay, the  proper  condition  of  the  roller  and  the  nature 
of  the  ink,  of  the  moistening  of  paper,  of  the  peculiar 
construction  of  the  lever  and  of  the  force  required  to 
work  it. 

The  knowledge  of  an  idea  does  not  mean  simply  that 
one  should  know  that  such  an  idea  exists,  nor  that  he 
should  know  whether  it  be  a  true  idea  or  the  reverse ; 
it  means  an  analysis  of  its  operation  on  persons  who 
accept  it  as  true,  and  whose  acts  and  emotions  are  un- 
der its  influence.  If  the  architect,  whose  province  it 
is  to  analyze  an  idea  in  this  manner,  is  himself  under 
its  influence,  he  will  invariably  accept  his  personal  in- 
terpretation of  it  and  of  its  results.  This  may  be  fully 
in  accordance  with  the  true  import  of  the  idea  in  ques- 
tion ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  most  cases  it 
is  not.  The  true  position  of  the  architect — the  position 
which  it  is  desirable  he  should  occupy  for  the  good  of 
the  monument — ^is  that  of  the  intelligent  commentator 
who  is  bent  on  ascertaining  the  true  meaning  of  the 
author,  without  inquiring  whether  the  author  was  right 
or  ^vrong  in  what  he  said  ;  when  that  true  meaning  of 
the  author  is  ascertained,  it  becomes  his  duty  to  as- 
sume that  the  persons  who  occupy  the  structure  accept 
that  interpretation  of  the  idea  as  the  true  one. 

The  course  of  education  to  be  recommended  to  this 


470 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


end  is  of  course  a  study  of  history,  but,  withal,  there 
is  needed  in  this  matter  a  sound  logical  mind,  which, 
like  taste,  is  not  to  any  great  extent  a  gift  of  nature, 
but  which  may  be  cultiv^ated  by  the  study  of  science 
and  mathematics.  It  may  be  stated  as  a  rule,  that  this 
is  the  only  training  which  will  insure  good  results.  It 
is  also  seK-evident  that  the  arranging  of  groups  of  per- 
sons under  the  influence  of  an  emotion  demands  a  poet- 
ical development  of  a  peculiar  kind.  The  cultivation 
of  it  is  to  be  found  in  literature,  in  painting,  sculpture, 
and  the  drama. 

This  brings  us  to  the  subject  of  the  education  of  the 
architect,  and  it  is  truly  wonderful  that  a  liberal  edu- 
cation and  art-training,  as  outlined  above,  is  nowhere 
thought  of.  It  is  not  until  recently,  say  the  beginning 
of  this  century,  that  a  technical  education  which  com- 
prises mathematical  studies  has  been  assigned  to  him 
in  the  various  polytechnic  schools  of  Europe.  Archi- 
tects in  England  and  America  are,  even  to-day,  mainly 
educated  under  a  system  of  apprenticeship  like  that 
of  the  trades.  It  is  only  recently  that  polytechnic 
schools,  in  imitation  of  those  on  the  continent  of  Eu- 
rope, have  been  established  here,  where  the  student 
may  acquire  that  knowledge  of  mathematics  and  me- 
chanics which  is  indispensable  to  him.  Yet,  it  is  not 
even  now  obligatory  that  an  architect  should  have 
mastered  mechanics  before  he  is  permitted  to  practice 
his  profession ;  large  numbers  of  practitioners  enjoy 
an  extensive  clientage  without  ever  having  given  the 
subject  a  thought. 

Practical  work,  under  the  guidance  of  a  competent 
architect,  as  a  finishing  course  of  the  young  student 
who  has  theoretically  completed  his  education  and  has 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE,  471 


become  an  architect  in  a  good  polytechnic  school,  is  of 
undoubted  benefit  before  lie  attempts  independent 
active  work.  But  that  youths,  without  other  prepara- 
tion, may  become  architects  by  serving  an  apprentice- 
ship in  an  architect's  office  is  a  fallacy  of  the  times. 
Doubtless,  there  may  be  found  isolated  cases  of  indi- 
vidual success,  even  under  this  system,  but  it  would 
not  be  very  difficult  to  point  out  where  men  so  edu- 
cated have  utterly  failed  in  spite  of  their  apparent 
practical  success,  and  also  what  amount  of  labor  and 
self-denial  it  has  cost  others,  who  make  up  by  private 
study  what  had  been  neglected  in  their  early  educa- 
tion. 

The  methods  of  training  adopted  in  schools  com- 
prehend (besides  mathematical  studies,  which  at  the 
present  time  are  all  that  can  be  expected,)  the  exam- 
ination and  drawing  of  structural  parts,  and  also  of 
old  monuments  of  recognized  merit.  In  transferring 
architectural  forms  to  paper  in  the  shape  of  geometri- 
cal and  perspective  drawings,  the  student  becomes  fa- 
miliar with  these  forms  and  the  conventional  shape 
they  assume  in  geometrical  drawings.  He  learns  to 
write,  as  it  were,  the  hieroglyphics  of  architectural 
practice,  and  to  read  them  when  he  finds  them  written. 
But  this  course  is  pursued  only  in  some  of  the  acade- 
mies and  polytechnic  schools,  not  in  all  of  them,  and 
the  extent  to  which  it  is  carried  in  the  majority  of 
schools  is  very  limited. 

AVhat  is  practiced  everywhere  is  the  early  and  con- 
stant composition  of  structures  by  means  of  sketches 
which  are  prepared  by  the  pupils  and  corrected  by 
the  master.  This  process  is  pursued  without  system, 
without  due  preparation,  and  with  very  bad  results. 


472 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


If  in  a  structure  we  desire  to  tell  tlie  story  of  its 
being,  if  we  wish  to  express  in  its  architecture  the 
idea  which  has  given  rise  to  its  existence,  it  seems  clear 
that  the  form  of  the  structure  is  the  most  available 
element  for  this  purpose.  It  is  true  we  may  build 
structui^es  of  arbitrary  forms  and  paint  on  their  walls 
pictures  of  what  is  going  on  inside,  or  of  the  occur- 
rences which  have  caused  people  to  congregate  within ; 
or  we  may  carve  in  stone  representations  to  answer  the 
same  purpose,  or  cover  the  structures  with  legends  de- 
scri23tive  of  the  matter  we  wish  to  relate.  But  in  these 
cases  we  are  pursuing  painting,  sculpture,  and  poetry, 
and  not  architecture,  for  architecture  is  the  art  which, 
by  technical  methods  peculiarly  its  own,  pursues  this 
very  puqoose  of  telling  the  story  of  a  monument,  and 
of  the  idea  which  it  is  to  commemorate.  Can  this  be 
done  at  all  without  the  help  of  other  arts?  Yes! 
Look  at  the  ruins  of  monuments  of  the  past,  ruins 
from  which  all  original  detail  has  disappeared,  or  at 
the  foundation  of  monuments  never  built  or  entirely 
destroyed — they  tell  the  story  of  the  object  and  pur- 
pose of  these  structures.  We  know  them  as  temples 
or  theaters,  forums,  baths,  or  dwellings.  Is  it  desirable 
to  do  it  without  the  help  of  other  arts  ?  No !  The 
main  object  is  to  express  an  idea,  and  if  the  sister  arts 
of  sculpture  and  painting  assist  in  doing  this,  their 
help  is  not  to  be  rejected. 

Some  architects,  however,  doubt  that  the  forms  of 
construction  are  an  element  in  architectural  art,  and 
others  again  imagine  that  all  possible  architectural 
forms  have  been  created  in  the  past,  and  no  new  forms 
are  now  possible  or  desirable.  Therefore  the  archi- 
tecture of  the  last  four  hundred  years  selects  its  mon- 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  473 


umental  forms  from  tlie  repertoire  of  history.  It  often 
happens  that  these  forms  are  incompatible  with  the 
uses  or  with  the  methods  of  construction  of  modern 
monuments ;  in  that  case  architecture  yields  reluctantly 
to  use  and  obstructs  obstinately  the  needed  cou' 
struction,  or  covers  it  up  out  of  sight  with  forms 
which  originate  in  other  constructions.  This  is  done 
without  violence  to  the  artistic  conscience,  upon  the 
theory  that  form  is  a  conventional  entity  of  recognized 
beauty,  character,  and  value,  which  once  accepted  by 
the  art  of  architecture  is  not  further  to  be  questioned 
as  to  its  nature  or  origin,  but  to  be  adopted  and  used 
without  cavil. 

Inasmuch  as  these  ancient  forms  are  often  either 
too  large  or  too  small  for  the  place  they  are  to  fill,  the 
convenient  rule  has  been  adopted  that  parts  of  struct- 
ure as  found  in  the  past  may  be  increased  or  reduced 
pro  rata  without  violence  to  art.  This  rule,  as  we 
have  seen  in  Chapter  XX,  page  299,  leads  to  a  pro- 
portion of  masses  which  is  no  longer  possessed  of  sta- 
bility, and  cannot  therefore  be  accepted  as  a  guide  in 
architecture.  ]S"or  is  the  scheme  of  creating  a  new 
architecture  by  a  mere  modification  of  old  forms  preg- 
nant with  the  promise  of  success.  Watt  did  not  attempt 
to  shape  his  steam-engine  after  the  pattern  of  a  wind- 
mill, nor  were  early  shot-guns  made  in  the  form  of  a 
cross-bow.  In  one  respect  architectural  monuments 
resemble  each  other  sufficiently  to  warrant  an  intimate 
relationship  of  form,  viz. :  they  are  all  at  least  tempo- 
rary abodes  for  man,  not  unlike  the  wind-mill  and  the 
steam-engine,  either  of  which  serves  as  an  apparatus 
for  pumping  water,  and  the  cross-bow  and  the  shot-gun, 
which  are  both  engines  of  war ;  but  these,  after  all,  are 


474  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


mere  physical  conditions.  The  nature  of  architectural 
monuments  changes  with  the  idea  which  prompts 
persons  to  congregate  within  them,  just  as  in  the 
steam  engine  and  shot-gun  the  motive  force  which 
performs  the  work  (steam  and  gunj^owder)  supersedes 
the  motive  force  used  in  the  ^-ind-mill  and  cross-bow, 
which  are  atmospheric  currents  and  muscular  power. 

Mere  modification  of  form  is  not  always  creation  in 
imitation  of  nature.  It  is  true,  nature  modifies  form 
to  respond  to  environment  whenever  environment 
changes  gradually;  but  if  in  nature  an  organism  is 
transplanted  into  a  region  of  totally  different  environ- 
ment, the  organism  dies,  not  to  be  annihilated,  but  to  re- 
turn into  its  constituent  molecules  and  atoms,  to  under- 
go new  combinations  which  are  new  functional  forms, 
totally  different  from  those  preceding  them.  Art  is 
governed  by  nature's  laws  of  creation,  and  architecture, 
to  be  a  living  art,  must  be  also  governed  by  these  laws. 
The  historical  forms  of  architecture  have  become  obso- 
lete because  the  environment  has  changed.  During 
four  hundred  years  old  forms  have  not  been  modified, 
nor  have  new  forms  been  created  ;  but  the  conditions 
surrounding  architecture  have  changed  all  the  same, 
and  the  gap  has  become  too  great  for  modification  now ; 
nothini2:  short  of  re-creation  will  meet  the  case.  But 
this  re-creation  must  proceed  upon  the  j)rinciple  of 
imitation.  Old  architectural  forms  must  be  permitted 
to  dissolve  into  their  elements,  which  are  construction, 
material,  carved  ornament,  and  color  decoration.  These 
elements  may  be  used  as  separate  entities,  as  a  basis  of 
new  forms.  Of  course,  where  the  possibilities  of  con- 
struction have  been  increased,  we  must  call  into  use 
this  increase,  and  the  material  which  has  been  added 


THE  GTJLTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  475 


by  modern  invention  must  be  utilized  and  incorporated 
in  our  architecture.  AVe  cannot  boast  of  great  progress 
in  carved  ornament  and  color  decoration,  but  we  may 
learn  to  understand  the  application  of  it  under  a  more 
comprehensive  and  better  established  system,  and  we 
may  call  to  our  aid  in  its  use  and  application  an  ad- 
vanced knowledge  of  mechanical  laws  and  technical 
facilities. 

The  thing  most  needed  to  initiate  such  an  era  in 
architecture  is,  that  architects  must  build  more  and 
draw  less.  This  is  not  intended  to  mean  that  archi- 
tects can  be  better  educated  as  masons  and  stone-cutter's 
aj^prentices  than  in  art  academies,  but  that  the  student 
of  architecture  must  be  trained  to  think  and  reason 
upon  a  structure  instead  of  thinking  of  a  mere  drawing. 
The  mind  of  the  modern  architect  is  wrapped  up  in  his 
drawings;  they  are  to  him  the  ultimate  object  of  study ; 
he  imagines  that  if  the  drawing  he  is  engaged  in  pre- 
paring is  pleasing  to  him,  the  structure  which  will  be 
built  in  accordance  with  it  will  of  necessity  be  a  good 
architectural  work.  Now  every  practicing  architect 
will  know  what  is  here  meant  by  too  much  drawing 
and  too  little  building,  and  will  probably  accept  it  as 
true.  To  the  layman  it  needs  further  explanation,  and 
no  doubt  a  statement  of  the  causes  of  this  peculiar 
mental  condition  of  the  architect  will  elucidate  it.  The 
student  of  architecture  learns  of  the  art  mainly  from 
drawings;  he  sees  but  little  of  the  structures  them- 
selves. Whenever  in  his  mind  he  recurs  to  a  noted 
monument,  it  is  a  drawing  of  that  monument  that  he 
means,  not  the  monument  itself.  When  he  is  engaged 
in  composing  a  design  of  a  monument,  it  is  again  the 
drawing  he  looks  to  as  the  immediate  realization  of  his 


476 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


ideas,  not  the  structure.  Again,  it  is  this  drawing 
which  is  to  affect  favorably  the  opinion  of  his  client, 
hence  his  prime  solicitude  in  its  behalf.  The  student 
of  architecture  is  not  made  sufficiently  familiar  with 
parts  of  structure  and  their  mechanical  function ;  he 
knows  monuments  mainly  as  a  whole,  and  as  they 
appear  in  prints  and  photographs.  These  leave  upon 
his  mind  an  impression  which  he  attempts  to  reproduce 
in  his  work,  and  he  thinks  this  may  be  done  if  he  can 
reproduce  it  in  his  drawings.  The  principal  character- 
istic of  drawings,  at  least  that  which  presents  itself  to 
a  superficial  observer,  is  light  and  shade.  It  has  be- 
come an  article  of  architectural  faith  that  to  produce 
shadows  is  doing  architecture. 

Admirers  of  architectural  drawings  discover  in  them 
also  certain  effects.  The  first  and  most  striking  of 
these  effects  is  that  of  age  and  partial  decay.  This 
appearance  of  material  decomposition  is  picturesque^ 
and  is  hence  greatly  prized  in  prints  and  photographs. 
The  reason  why  may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the 
appearance  of  a  monument  is  in  truth  improved  by 
age.  Time  and  the  weather  w^ear  off  the  rigidity  and 
stiffness  of  a  new  structure,  the  hardness  of  differences 
in  natural  color  and  no  doubt  an  indication  also  of  age 
is  a  fair  guarantee  of  stability. 

Modern  restorations  of  the  cathedrals  illustrate  this 
fact  most  forcibly.  The  new  parts  are  often  built  with 
scrupulous  exactness  and  technical  success  in  imitation 
of  the  sjDirit  and  detail  of  the  old  parts,  yet  the  expres- 
sion attained  is  inferior  to  that  of  the  latter.  True, 
much  of  this  is  owing  to  the  stiffness  and  regularity  of 
modem  mechanical  work  as  compared  with  old  work, 
yet  even  where  this  stiffness  is  avoided  new  work  com- 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  477 


pares  unfavorably  with  old  work  in  picturesqueness. 
Now,  this  quality  of  age  is  always  apparent  in  photo- 
graphs, is  often  well  rendered  in  engravings  and  litho- 
graphs, and  its  effect  is  freely  made  use  of  in  the  wood- 
cuts which  serve  as  illustrations  of  works  on  art  history. 
From  these  the  architectural  student  derives  his  love 
of  this  special  quality  of  drawings,  and  it  becomes  his 
great  aim  to  render  his  sketches  and  compositions  in 
the  same  way.  A  few  touches  of  the  kind  are  apt  to 
reconcile  him  to  a  vast  amount  of  bad  architecture. 
Another  remarkable  feature  of  architectural  prints  and 
photographs  which  commands  the  attention  of  the  en- 
thusiastic student  is  the  presence  of  odd  and  curious 
features  of  old  monuments  which  have  no  application 
in  modern  building,  but  which  have  become  picturesque 
because  they  are  obsolete,  and  which  attract  attention 
because  they  refer  to  physical  needs  or  artistic  expres- 
sion which  have  become  poetical  by  being  sung  in 
verse  and  painted  in  pictures.  The  young  architect 
confounds  his  admiration  for  these  poetical  features 
with  a  just  admiration  of  architectural  merit.  Pie  de- 
lights in  their  picturesqueness,  and  hence  believes  them 
to  be  noble  features  in  architecture  which  he  would 
love  to  introduce  in  his  composition.  He  deplores  his 
own  as  a  prosaic  age,  because  of  the  absence  of  similar 
poetical  and  picturesque  demands,  forgetting  that  it  is 
his  function  to  elicit  these  demands  out  of  the  chaos 
of  popular  notions,  and  to  create  forms  which  depict 
new  wants  with  the  same  pictorial  facility  with  which 
these  old  forms  have  been  developed  which  please  him 
so  much.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  many  modern 
architects  have  now  and  again  realized  this  state  of 
things,  and  have  endeavored  to  create  new  forms  which 


478 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


shall  express  modern  needs  and  shall  also  be  picturesque; 
but  this  attempt  has  often  failed,  because  their  authors 
have  become  discouraged  by  seeming  failures  in  the 
early  development  of  these  forms,  which  in  the  nature 
of  the  process  must  be  more  or  less  crude,  and  partly 
because  a  studied  attempt  at  picturesqueness  can  never 
rise  above  adaptation  of  old  forms — can  never  become 
a  true  art  development. 

One  of  the  most  potent  causes  of  the  chaim  of  pictur- 
esque effect,  in  mediaeval  monuments- and  the  draw- 
ings of  these,  is  in  the  simple  and  free  translation  of 
the  thought  of  their  authors  which  they  convey.  The 
architects  of  that  period  built  what  they  needed,  and 
in  the  order  in  which  they  needed  it,  mthout  studied 
affectation ;  without  any  attempt  at  appearances. 
Hence,  everything  they  did  in  building  became  a  feat- 
ure in  their  monuments,  and  these  collective  features 
became  picturesque ;  that  is,  they  became  the  features 
of  an  organism  which  expressed  its  functions,  and,  like 
the  picture  on  canvas,  these  monuments  told  the  story 
of  an  idea.  If  we  strive  after  this  sort  of  picturesque- 
ness, by  storing  our  mind  with  its  forms  and  imitate 
these  forms  in  our  drawings,  we  are  not  pursuing  art ; 
that  is,  we  are  not  pursuing  a  living  architecture ;  we 
must  imitate  it  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  conceived ; 
we  must  do  as  did  the  architects  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
we  must  build  what  we  need,  and  in  the  order  in 
which  we  need  it,  physically  and  mentally,  without 
studied  affectation,  and  the  result  mil  be  an  equally 
picturesque  architecture.  But  such  an  architecture 
cannot  be  conceived  full-fledged  and  drawn  on  paper 
as  a  completed  elevation,  section,  or  perspective.  It 
must   grow   out  of  building,  just   as  the  pattern 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE,  479 


of  a  woven  fabric  grows  out  of  weaving,  and  tlie 
form  of  a  metal  manufacture  out  of  forging.  Many 
ai-cliitects  and  lovers  of  architecture,  convinced  of  tlie 
truth  of  this,  have  suggested  that  architects  should  be 
practical  builders  ;  should  be  educated,  as  it  were,  in 
the  shop  and  at  the  bench ;  also,  that  they  should  be 
sculptors  and  decorators.  If  this  could  be — ^that  is,  if 
the  student  of  architecture  could  master  the  mathe- 
matical and  scientific  branches  taught  in  modern  poly- 
technic schools,  make  himself  proficient  in  drawing, 
attend  an  academy  of  architecture,  and  then  become 
in  succession  a  good  carpenter,  mason,  stone-cutter, 
painter,  sculptor,  and  decorator — no  doubt  such  a  stu- 
dent would  be  eminently  well  prepared  for  prof essional 
life,  and  produce  marvels  of  architectural  art ;  but  as 
human  life  is  too  short  to  enable  one  man  to  master 
practically  so  many  arts,  the  question  to  be  answered 
is  reduced  to  this :  Shall  the  pupil  of  architecture  be 
educated  in  some  mechanical  workshop,  in  an  art 
studio,  or  in  a  polytechnic  school.  The  pupil  of  a 
polytechnic  school  no  doubt  is,  at  the  end  of  his 
term,  deficient  in  practical  mechanics,  and  probably 
entirely  ignorant  of  painting  and  sculpture,  and  it  is 
fair  to  assume  that  a  proficient  painter,  sculptor,  or 
mechanic,  at  the  end  of  his  term  of  apprenticeship,  will 
be  equally  ignorant  of  architecture,  both  in  its  theory 
and  its  practice.  But  the  pupil  of  a  polytechnic 
school  has  acquired  a  habit  of  study,  which  is  foreign 
to  the  workshop  and  the  studio,  and  may  make  him- 
self master  of  the  theory  of  art,  and  more  especially  of 
that  of  painting  and  sculpture,  in  the  same  way  as  he 
is  already  master  of  the  theory  of  mechanics.  What 
really  remains  to  be  wished  for  is  that  the  education 


480  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


of  the  architect  should  include  a  thorough  course  on 
the  theory  of  art,  if  need  be  in  the  place  of  the  course 
on  history  of  art,  which  may,  with  propriety,  be  reserved 
for  maturer  3^ ears,  and  that  at  least  an  elementary  prac- 
tice in  modelling,  decoration,  and  mechanical  work 
should  be  part  of  his  school  education.  The  latter  is 
now  done  to  some  extent  in  some  of  the  better  poly- 
technic schools.  But  what  is  done  tends  to  illustrate 
only  what  the  pupil  has  previously  learned  to  do  in 
drawing.  This  order  of  things  might  be  reversed  to 
advantage.  The  pupil  should  be  impressed  by  his 
education,  first  mth  the  importance  and  necessity 
of  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  theory  of  mechanics 
and  of  the  fine  arts,  next  of  the  application  of  this 
theory  to  the  practical  work ;  while  drawing  should 
be  considered  as  a  mere  notation  of  thought  refer- 
ring to  practical  execution.  With  a  view  to  this 
end,  the  technical  instruction  in  drawing  (which  to 
insure  fluency  must  of  necessity  precede  a  complete 
theoretical  knowledge  of  mechanics)  should  be 
mainly  confined  to  free-hand  drawing,  and  whenever 
architectural  or  mechanical  drawing  is  practiced,  dur- 
ing that  time  it  should  be  limited  to  parts  of  structure 
(the  more  elementary  the  better),  and  every  such  draw- 
ing should  be  accompanied  by  plans,  sections,  and  a 
perspective  sketch,  that  the  mind  of  the  pupil  may 
constantly  dwell  upon  the  form  of  the  object  he  de- 
picts, and  not  merely  upon  its  surface.  Or,  better, 
drawing  should  be  practiced  entirely  from  the 
model. 

Architectural  ornament  should  be  drawn  fi^om  the 
object,  first  in  its  natural  form,  and  then  convention- 
ally.   If  possible,  the  translation  should  in  each  effort 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  481 


be  made  to  two  or  more  materials  and  illustrated  in 
relation  to  various  parts  of  the  structure. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  enter  into  the  detail  of  in- 
struction, but  it  is  desirable  to  make  it  perfectly  clear 
that  the  architect,  to  compose  well,  must  compose  a 
monument  which  he  may  jot  down  as  he  proceeds  in 
the  form  of  a  drawing,  and  he  must  not  compose  a 
drawing,  which,  when  executed,  may  be  a  monument. 

Only  those  who  are  capable  of  analysing  the  relation 
of  the  various  external  elevations  of  modern  monu- 
ments to  each  other,  and  to  their  internal  sections,  and 
who  perceive  the  existing  discords,  can  realize  the  per- 
nicious influence  of  the  modern  system  of  doing  archi- 
tecture purely  through  drawings. 

How  shall  I  build  this  thing  ?  should  be  the  constant 
question  of  the  architect  while  composing,  instead  of 
what  form  shall  I  give  to  it  ?  If  the  former  question  is 
responded  to  in  our  composition ;  if  this  question  is 
intelligently  answered  at  every  step  of  progress,  forms 
will  grow  out  of  it ;  but  if  we  design  monuments  in 
response  to  the  latter  question,  the  monument  is  never 
contemplated  seriously,  scientifically,  or  artistically,  as 
a  whole,  but  as  an  aggregation  of  disjointed  parts ; 
hence  the  other  question.  How  can  I  join  this  and  that 
together  with  architectural  propriety  ?  is  the  question 
which  most  frequently  occurs  in  modern  architectural 
composition.  The  moment  the  architect  finds  it  neces- 
sary to  ask  or  answer  this  fatal  question  he  may  be 
sure  that  he  is  pursuing  the  wrong  course.  He  has 
started  his  work  with  completed  forms,  and  is  not 
developing  them. 

All  parts  of  structure  perform  mechanical  functions, 
hence  their  form  must  be  primarily  determined  by 
31 


482 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


meclianical  laws.  Tlie  modern  architect  ignores  this 
fundamental  law.  He  believes  that  there  is  a  relation 
of  a  mechanical  nature  between  superincumbent  mass 
and  the  area  of  the  supporting  pier,  between  the  lateral 
thrust  of  an  arch  and  the  resistance  of  its  abutment, 
but  he  deems  it  an  intrusion  to  remind  him  that  no 
part  of  structure  can  be  determined  in  its  mass  or  out- 
line without  due  mathematical  consideration. 

It  is  not  intended  in  these  pages  to  enter  upon  a 
detailed  analysis  of  this  principle  and  its  practical  ap- 
plication. The  subject  is  too  large  to  do  justice  to  it 
in  the  short  space  which  can  be  devoted  to  it  here ; 
but  to  make  the  principle  more  clear,  by  an  illustra- 
tion, we  may  mention  one  special  structural  feature, 
viz.,  the  capital,  which  is  almost  invariably  misunder- 
stood in  modern  practice.  By  many  it  is  imagined 
that  its  height,  for  instance,  depends  mainly  upon  the 
diameter  of  the  column  which  it  crowns.  This  is  the 
Renaissance  error,  and  is  derived  from  the  rule  now 
taught,  that  the  height  of  a  capital  may  be  expressed 
in  diameters  of  the  column,  or  that  it  must  bear  a  cer- 
tain fixed  relation  to  the  thickness  of  the  column. 
Others,  again,  design  the  capital  to  correspond  with  the 
length  of  the  column  which  supports  it.  Exaggerated 
capitals  of  this  kind  are  to  be  frequently  found  upon 
the  thin  and  long  wall  shafts  of  modern  Gothic  struct- 
ures. Many  others,  again,  refer  the  size  and  shape  of 
the  capital  to  the  general  form  and  dimensions  of 
length  and  diameter  of  the  whole  organized  pier  of 
which  it  forms  a  part.  Very  few,  indeed,  seem  to  un- 
derstand its  function  and  true  mechanical  value.  The 
capital  is  the  cornice  or  crowning  stone  of  a  shaft  or 
pier,  and  connects  this  shaft  with  its  load,  which  is 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCIIITECTURE.  483 


always  of  larger  area  tlian  the  shaft  at  the  point  of 
connection.  This  difference  of  area  itself  depends 
upon  mechanical  considerations,  which,  for  this  present 
purpose,  may  be  omitted,  but  it  alone  determines  the 
projection  of  the  capital.  Now,  the  height  of  the 
capital  is  the  resultant,  first,  of  the  needed  projection ; 
second,  of  the  position  in  relation  to  the  eye ;  third, 
of  the  shape  of  its  own  bell,  whether  it  be  concave  or 
convex ;  fourth,  of  the  nature,  strength  (capability  to 
resist  pressure),  of  the  material  it  is  made  of;  and 
finally,  of  the  degree  of  strength  and  elegance  pertain- 
ing to  the  monument  in  question.  It  is  not  intended 
to  convey  the  idea  that  all  these  elements  which  con- 
stitute the  proportions  of  the  capital  must,  or  always 
can  be,  mathematically  demonstrated ;  but  it  must  be 
clear  that,  inasmuch  as  they  form  the  mechanical  ele- 
ments of  its  mass,  they  must  be  mechanically  considered, 
and  at  least  approximately  realized,  to  enable  the 
architect  to  attain  to  the  best  and  most  expressive 
form  possible. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  in  the  construction  of 
roofs,  bridges,  and  trusses,  made  possible  by  the  inven- 
tion of  modern  rolled  iron,  the  calculation  of  the 
strains  of  a  projected  construction,  and  the  determin- 
ation of  the  sectional  area  of  the  various  parts  which 
resist  these  strains,  are  the  least  part  of  the  engineer's 
labor  in  designiug  these  roofs,  bridges,  and  trusses. 
The  greatest  part  of  the  work  is,  of  necessity,  bestowed 
upon  the  connections  where  strains  are  concentrated 
upon  bolts  or  divided  upon  rivets,  and  where  the  ma- 
terial is  constantly  weakened  by  perforations,  and 
must  be  constantly  strengthened  again  by  additional 
plates  or  special  castings.    Now  when  we  look  upon 


484  NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


a  structure  of  this  kind,  one  that  is  well  and  consci- 
entiously designed,  these  connections  or  knots,  as  they 
\  are  called,  address  us  very  forcibly,  and  convey  a  con- 
vincing expression  of  their  strength  and  adequacy 
to  do  the  mechanical  work  they  perform.  In  them, 
nothing  is  attempted  beyond  this  adequacy  of  strength ; 
but  inasmuch  as,  by  reason  of  economy  and  mechanical 
convenience,  this  cannot  be  attained  by  the  mere 
weight  of  abundant  material,  but  only  by  the  most 
scientific  application  of  the  material  at  the  disposal  of 
the  engineer,  the  result  of  these  constructions  is  a  spe- 
cies of  art-form,  which  speaks  forcibly  of  mechanical 
work  done,  and  is  hence  possessed  of  beauty.  We  per- 
ceive in  these  works  of  the  engineer  the  true  spirit 
of  art-force  and  the  resultant  pleasurable  emotion. 
Some  of  these  iron  structural  parts  have  been  success- 
fully treated  by  the  architect  with  color  decoration 
and  ornament  wrought  in  metal,  and  thus  been  elevated 
into  works  of  fine  art.  It  is  for  their  primary  devel- 
opment of  form,  however,  that  they  should  be  recom- 
mended to  the  student  of  architecture  as  a  potent 
schooling  in  the  mechanical  consideration  of  the  ma- 
terial function  of  structural  parts. 

An  architect  may  design  a  very  clever  capital, 
bracket,  or  cornice,  etc.,  by  groping  for  it,  and  elabor- 
ating and  developing  it  out  of  his  inner  consciousness. 
But  it  must  be  remembered  that  to  do  a  work  of  fine 
art  is  to  do  it  with  premeditation,  that  the  artist  must 
know  what  he  is  driving  at,  and  must  possess  the  tech- 
nical skill  to  approach  it  and  bring  it  to  completion 
by  direct  methods.  This  technical  skill  is  acquired 
by  long-continued  practice.  While  the  knowledge  of 
what  is  to  be  done  is  of  a  scientific  nature,  it  is  posi- 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE,  485 


tive,  logical,  and  analytical  in  its  character,  and  must 
be  diligently  studied  and  mastered  by  the  architect  if 
he  is  to  do  his  work  with  premeditation,  for  only  then 
is  it  a  work  of  art. 

As  soon  as  the  student  has  mastered  his  mathemat- 
ical studies,  and  become  an  expert  draughtsman,  and 
has  been  taught  the  principles  of  architectural  model- 
ling and  decoration,  and  the  use  of  color  in  application 
to  structural  forms,  he  should  be  initiated  into  archi- 
tectural composition  by  problems  involving,  at  first, 
merely  parts  of  structures,  as,  for  instance,  a  pier  sup- 
porting a  given  wall  imposed  upon  an  arch  or  lintel ; 
the  cubic  contents  of  the  wall  being  known  and  the 
height  of  pier  given,  the  transverse  area  of  the  pier 
may  be  readily  determined.    Now  the  pupil  should 
be  made  to  model  this  pier,  arch,  and  wall  for  a 
series  of  structures  of  different  degrees  of  strength 
and  elegance,  from  a  servant's  hall  up  to  a  church 
aisle.    He  should  elaborate  some  of  these  drawings 
with  carved  ornament  and   color  decoration.  He 
should  be  made  to  prepare  two  or  three  examples  of 
each  kind  varying  in  richness,  and  should  in  this  pro- 
cess be  corrected  as  to  the  proper  relation  of  modelling 
to  be  adopted  in  each  part.    From  this  simple  ex- 
ample the  pupil  should  be  gradually  permitted  to 
advance  toward   more  extensive  combinations,  and 
finally  to  whole  structures  of  a  simple  kind,  and  so  on 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter.    There  should  not  be  one 
word  spoken  of  style ;  in  fact,  the  study  of  art  history 
may  be  safely  postponed  to  the  last  year  of  instruc- 
tion ;  or,  if  the  pupil  has  dabbled  in  art  history  be- 
fore it  is  good  for  him  to  do  so,  he  should  be  promptly 
impressed  that  what  he  finds  there  is  not  to  be  a 


486 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE, 


criterion  of  what  he  is  to  do,  but  simply  a  statement 
of  what  others  have  done  under  circumstances  which 
will  not  occur  again. 

The  character  of  his  work  must  refer  solely  to  con- 
struction, and  the  construction  to  the  idea  which  is  to 
be  expressed  and  to  the  material  which  is  at  his  com- 
mand for  that  purpose.  He  should  learn  in  this  prac- 
tice the  difference  of  treatment  which  is  due  to  the 
material  used;  that  wood  needs  different  modelling 
from  stone,  and  stone  different  modelling  from  metal ; 
and  he  should  learn  also  the  methods  of  convention- 
alizing decorative  ornament,  which  depend  upon  ma- 
terial and  function.  A  dozen  pupils  of  fair  abilities 
and  general  education,  well  grounded  in  mechanics 
and  drawing,  guided  by  a  teacher  who  is  not  a  pro- 
fessed militant  in  the  battles  of  style,  will,  if  trained 
in  this  manner,  produce  an  era  in  architecture,  always 
provided  that  they  are  permitted  to  do  work  and 
not  to  spend  their  time  in  preparing  drawings  for  the 
approval  of  persons  who  have  enjoyed  no  architectural 
education  whatever. 

A  child  could  not  well  be  taught  the  English  lan- 
guage if  we  insisted  on  beginning  with  the  dialect  of 
Chaucer,  and  so  going  on  to  the  English  of  to-day. 
Astronomy  is  read  at  universities  as  developed  at  this 
time,  not  as  it  was  at  the  time  of  Hipparchus.  Of 
what  use  would  it  be  to  teach  geography  upon  a  map 
of  the  Eoman  Empire,  or  science  according  to  the 
theories  of  Swedenborg  ?  There  is  no  doubt  a  historical 
value  in  all  such  teaching,  but  the  student  cannot  well 
commence  the  study  of  the  theory  and  practice  of  a 
living  art  by  a  perusal  of  an  art  that  is  dead.  The 
radical  error  is  to  be  found  in  the  opinion  of  those  who 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE,  487 


teach.  They  do  not  believe  that  Greek  architecture  is 
dead;  they  would  have  us  think  that  it  still  lives,  and 
try  to  think  so  themselves ;  but  it  is  dead,  and  so  are 
Roman,  Byzantine,  and  Gothic  architecture  just  as 
surely  dead  as  the  language  of  Chaucer  and  the  astron- 
omy of  Hipparchus.  These  styles  are  all  metals  which 
have  undergone  various  combinations  with  oxygen,  one 
and  all  oxides  of  architecture ;  you  may,  if  you  please, 
apply  to  them  the  poles  of  your  analytic  battery,  and 
extract  grains  of  pure  iron  from  this  historic  rust ;  but 
if  you  wish  to  have  your  horses  shod  to-day,  now^  be- 
cause you  need  them,  let  the  smith  take  metal  from  his 
own  store  and  let  him  forge  it  into  shoes  that  are 
serviceable  now^  at  once,  lest,  if  he  wait  for  the  opera- 
tions of  your  battery,  the  horses  die  before  you  procure 
iron  enough  out  of  the  shield  of  Piramus  or  the  spear 
of  Achilles. 

Greek  poetry  and  sculpture  stand  foremost  in  the 
ranks  of  art,  both  in  their  intrinsic  and  relative  value ; 
they  have  never  been  surpassed.  Greek  science  and 
architecture,  considered  as  the  outcome  of  an  early 
civilization,  form  an  epoch  in  the  cosmic  history  of 
human  culture  and  art,  which,  in  brilliancy  of  attain- 
ment, also  has  no  parallel  in  subsequent  relative  pro- 
gress ;  but  both  science  and  architecture  have  grown 
since  the  days  of  Pericles.  The  science  of  the  nine- 
teenth, and  the  architecture  of  the  thirteenth,  century- 
manifest  a  conscious  manly  mastery  of  the  multitude 
of  questions  which  have  arisen  in  science  and  art  since 
Greece  dazzled  the  world  with  her  childlike  dally- 
ing mth  their  rudiments.  Her  genius  will  ever  com- 
mand our  admiration,  but  we  cannot  afford  to  deny 
our  manhood  by   neglecting  the  earnest  work  of 


488 


NATURE  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


our  time  in  the  continuous  worship  of  a  divine  ex- 
ample. 

Young  men  between  the  ages  of  twenty  and  twenty- 
five,  who  should  be  engaged  upon  something  which 
will  make  them  useful  members  of  society,  are  made 
to  bend  over  the  dramng  board  for  six  hours  daily, 
drawing  an  acanthus  leaf  and  a  volute,  as  the  sum  and 
substance  of  carved  decoration.  They  are  told  that 
the  Corinthian  capital  is  the  greatest  triumph  of  archi- 
tectural art.  There  is  no  truth  in  all  this.  The  acan- 
thus leaf  was  never  treated  in  Greek  architecture  so  as 
to  express  capacity  to  carry  a  load ;  there  are  too  many 
leaves  in  the  CoriDthian  capital ;  they  are  weak,  droop- 
ing— not  strong  at  all — and  so  are  its  volutes.  What 
is  the  use  of  nursing  enthusiasm  for  the  poor  Corin- 
thian capital  ?  Let  us  respect  it  as  a  work  of  art  in  the 
place  where  we  find  it,  and  for  the  time  in  which  it 
was  made  ;  but  to  say  that  it  is  the  sum  and  substance, 
the  ultimatum  of  human  art,  that  there  is  nothing 
more  to  be  done  by  young  men  who  are  possessed  of 
souls  but  to  draw  that  thing  over  and  over  again, 
that  they  may  become  architects  and  draw  this  same 
thing  again  during  their  natural  lives,  and  go  into 
ecstasies  over  it,  and  call  it  art,  and  try  and  make 
others  believe  that  nothing  else  can  be  produced  which 
is  equally  good,  is  a  sin,  for  it  is  a  falsehood,  and  a  gross 
one.  Nor  is  the  pursuit  of  this  sort  of  architecture  art 
in  any  sense.  Suppose  that  it  were  true  that  the  archi- 
tecture of  Athens  is  perfect,  that  it  answers  all  pur- 
poses for  all  time  to  come ;  that  the  proportions  of  its 
structural  parts  are  settled  beyond  doubt  or  possible 
change ;  that  its  decoration  and  carved  ornament  are 
things  finished  and  completed,  then  what  is  the  use  of 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  489 


academies  of  architecture  ?  There  are  many  clever  me- 
chanicians of  our  day,  who  will  construct  a  machine 
which  will  produce  endless  designs  of  this  kind  for  all 
time  to  come.  This  perfection  and  infallibility  of 
antique  architecture  has  remained  undisputed  long 
enough ;  it  has  done  all  the  harm  that  can  be  reason- 
ably conceded  to  any  one  human  prejudice  or  error. 
It  has  been  treated  by  its  very  opponents  with  great 
courtesy  and  forbearance.  There  is  gathered  around 
it  a  halo  of  poetry,  of  physical  human  vigor,  of  human 
virtue,  courage,  and  patriotism,  of  human  rights  and 
philosophy,  which  must  deter  all  thinking  men  from 
disturbing  its  intellectual  and  moral  radiance.  But  it 
cannot  be  necessary  that  it  should  be  dragged  from  its 
proper  place  to  do  duty  and  perform  a  function  to  which 
it  is  ill  calculated  to  respond.  As  sincere  and  earn- 
est partisans  of  its  historical  glory,  we  should  desire 
that  it  remain  forever  in  its  historical  shrine. 

The  dilettanteism  of  modern  architecture  must  be 
rooted  out  before  the  art  can  revive  and  exercise  a 
wholesome  influence  upon  society.  It  must  be  under- 
stood by  all,  and  more  especially  by  those  who  desire 
to  become  architects,  as  the  first  and  most  important 
lesson  of  their  education,  that  the  road  to  architecture 
is  long,  tortuous,  and  thorny,  and  not  a  well-paved 
highw^ay  upon  which  man  may  amble  into  fame ;  that 
tlie  days  of  false  taste  are  numbered,  and  that  the 
time  is  not  far  distant  when  style  will  follow  in  the 
same  direction,  and  nothing  be  left  but  to  pursue 
architecture  pure  and  simple. 


INDEX. 


A. 

Act— an  act  illustrating  an  idea, 

125 ;  how  an  act  is  expressed  in  a 

structure,  213. 
Acting — (Dramatic),  465. 
Esthetics,  115. 
Albert  (Prince),  264. 
Analysis,  382 ;  Mathematical  analysis 

does  not  refer  to  special  matter, 

229. 

Architecture,  51;  its  aim,  33;  Rus- 
kin  on,  51;  Fergusson  on,  56; 
Sir  GillDert  Scott  on,  67;  educa- 
tion in,  72;  definition  of,  211; 
Thomas  Hope  on  the  ideal  forms 
in,  219;  imitation  in,  220;  rela- 
tion of  mechanical  construction 
to,  224;  expression  in,  251;  still 
in  its  infancy,  261;  definition  of 
construction  in,  269 ;  construction 
in  mediaeval,  344;  art  expression 
in,  346;  cultivation  of,  445;  Ar- 
chitectural composition  (its  de- 
fects of  method),  359;  Antique 
and  Christian  architecture  com- 
pared, 362 ;  defects  of  modern  ar- 
chitecture, 372;  Architecture  of 
the  past  (modern  reference  to 
it),  373 ;  why  persons  devote  them- 
selves to  the  study  of  architecture, 
456 ;  Architectural  effects,  674. 

Architectural  drawings — do  not  ex- 
press the  art  merit  of  the  monu- 
ment they  represent,  459;  con- 
vey no  adequate  idea  of  lighting 
the  interior  of  a  structure,  460; 
how  laymen  judge  of  their  merit, 
462;  submitted  to  the  approval 
of  laymen,  85. 

Aristotle  on  beauty,  145. 

Art,  121;  is  it  necessary?  99;  Lam- 
artine  on  its  function  and  neces- 
sity, 104;  premeditation  in,  122; 


definition  of,  122;  Mechanic  art, 
122;  Fine  art,  123;  Science  and 
art — their  respective  methods  of 
conveying  ideas,  123;  Technics  of 
art,  126;  creative  force  in,  127; 
Beauty  in  art,  186;  pleasurable 
emotion  in,  127;  Art  is  knowledge, 
183;  Feeling  in  art,  200;  Art 
talk,  464. 

• 

B. 

Beauty,  127;  Lord  Jeffrey  on,  144; 
Plato  on,  145;  Socrates  on,  145; 
Aristotle  on,  145 ;  Baumgarten  on, 
146;  Schiller  on,  147;  Leveque  on, 
149;  Hemsterhuis  on,  149;  Lord 
Shaftesbury  on,  153 ;  speculation  on 
its  nature,  156 ;  Pere  Buffier  on,  158 ; 
definition  of;  159-161;  Beauty  and 
expression,  161 ;  Beauty  in  art,  186. 

Brande  (Prof.),  definition  of  criti- 
cism, 420. 

Build  more  and  draw  less,  475. 

C. 

Carved  ornament,  316,  368. 

Cause  and  effect,  173,  180. 

Cell — the  single  cell,  404;  its  divis- 
ion into  bays,  406  ;  when  lighted 
by  more  than  one  tier  of  windows, 
406. 

Characteristics  of  styles  in  architect- 
ure, 361. 

Cologne — (Cathedral  of),  described 
by  Fergusson,  425 ;  by  Kugler,  441 ; 
analysis  of,  445. 

Color  decoration,  322,  368. 

Construction — its  relation  to  archi- 
tecture, 224;  definition  of,  269; 
Fergusson  on,  276-278;  in  medi- 
asval  architecture,  344. 

Conventionalizing  natural  forms,  325. 

491 


492 


INDEX, 


Creative  force  in  Art,  127  ;  imagined 

creative  force,  132. 
Criticism,  Prof.  Brande's  definition 

of,  420. 
Critical  analysis,  424. 
Cultivation  of  architecture,  445. 


D. 

Decoration  in  color,  322. 

Defects  of  modern  architecture,  372. 

Definition  of  art,  121  ;  Mechanic 
art,  122  ;  Fine  art,  123  ;  a  physi- 
cal function  of  an  emotion,  125  ; 
the  Ugly,  162;  the  Ludicrous,  1G3; 
the  Sublime,  163  ;  the  Ideal,  167  ; 
Imitation,  170  ;  Beauty,  159,  161, 
186  ;  Architecture,  211  ;  a  monu- 
ment, 211,  247  ;  an  idea,  228  ; 
Construction  in  architecture,  269 ; 
Proportion,  292;  Style,  330;  Emo- 
tion,  382  :  Criticism,  420,  422. 


E. 

Education  in  architecture,  72,  470. 

Emotion,  physical  function  of  an, 
125 ;  Emotion  and  thought,  382. 

Exhibition  of  the  industry  of  aU  na- 
tions in  1851,  265. 

Expression  of  function  in  mechanic 
art,  192  ;  in  architecture,  251 ; 
in  mediaeval  architecture,  346. 


F. 

Feeling  in  art,  200. 

Fergusson  on  architecture,  56  ;  on 
proportion,  61  ;  on  mouldings, 
275  ;  on  construction,  276,  278 ; 
on  form  and  modelling,  285  ;  his 
table  of  Arts,  386 ;  on  a  new 
Anglican  Church  not  of  any  style, 
386  ;  on  the  forms  of  the  architec- 
ture of  the  future,  397  ;  on  the 
Cathedral  of  Cologne,  425  ;  on  the 
Cathedral  of  Milan,  481. 

Fine  Art,  123,  188  ;  Fine  art  and 
Mechanic  art,  190. 

Force,  173. 

Form  of  natural  and  art  organisms, 
126  ;  cannot  be  created  without 
a  motive,  357 ;  false  structural 
forms,  407  ;  Form  and  function, 
481. 


H. 

Hegel  on  matter,  149. 
Hemsterhuis  on  beauty,  149. 
Hope  (Thomas),  on  the  ideal  forms 
in  architecture,  219. 


I. 

Idea— Ideas,  228  ;  Ideas  and  impres- 
sions, how  derived,  126  ;  demon- 
stration of  an  idea  in  matter,  123  ; 
definition  of  an  idea,  228  ;  modem 
ideas,  256. 

Ideal,  the,  164  ;  its  definition,  137 ; 
Ideal  forms  in  architecture,  by 
Hope,  219. 

Imitation  in  art,  170  ;  in  architec- 
ture, 220. 

Immortality  formulated  as  a  relation 
of  matter,  230. 

Iron  construction,  314  ;  Ruskin  on, 
66  ;  its  treatment  in  modern  ar- 
chitecture, 264. 


J. 

Lord  Jeffrey  on  beauty,  144. 


K. 

Kugler  on  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne, 
433  ;  on  the  Cathedral  of  Milan, 
441. 

L. 

Lamartine,  on  the  function  and 

necessity  of  art,  104. 
Leveque  on  beauty,  149. 
Ludicrous,  the,  163. 


M. 

Marble  slabs  used  as  a  lining  of  infe- 
rior masonry  in  northern  Italian 
architecture,  312. 

Matter,  Hegel  on,  110. 

Material,  310. 

Mechanic  art,  122,  190,  192. 

Mediaeval  architecture,  81  ;  its  at- 
tainment, 337  ;  its  development  in 
construction,  344  ;  in  Art  ex- 
pression, 346. 

Memory  and  reflection,  230. 


INDEX. 


493 


Method  of  architectural  composi- 
tion (defects  in),  359. 

Milan  Cathedral  of,  447  ;  Fergusson 
on,  430  ;  Kugler  on,  441. 

Modelling  of  structural  masses,  366  ; 
in  mediaBval  architecture,  409. 

Modification  of  forms  and  imitation 
of  nature,  447. 

Monument,  definition  of,  211,  247  ; 
the  monumental  stone,  264. 

Mouldings,  Fergusson  on,  275. 

Musical  composition,  466. 


P. 

Physical  function  of  an  emotion* 
125. 

Plato  on  beauty,  145. 

Pleasurable  emotion  in  art,  127 ; 
its  nature,  128,  129. 

Pointed  arch — Ruskin  on,  64. 

Premeditation  in  art,  122. 

Proportion — Vitruvius  on,  59  ;  Fer- 
gusson on,  61,  303  ;  definition  of, 
292  ;  as  commonly  understood, 
297  ;  as  recommended  by  the  Ee- 
naissance  School,  299  ;  of  the  inte- 
rior, 301. 


R. 

Renaissance  architecture,  80. 

Roof,  the  vaulted,  400  ;  the  open  tim- 
ber roof,  403. 

Ruskin  on  architecture,  51  ;  on  the 
pointed  arch,  64 ;  on  iron  con- 
struction, 66. 


S. 

Sacraments  of  nature,  260. 
Schiller  on  Esthetics,  147. 
Science  and  art,  their  methods  of 

conveying  ideas,  123,  177. 
Scott  (Sir  Gilbert)  on  architecture, 

67. 

Shaftesbury  on  beauty,  153. 
Speculations  on  the  nature  of  beauty, 
150. 

Stability  and  mass,  309. 

Style — definition  of,  330  ;  characteris- 
tics of,  361  ;  must  a  structure  in 
process  of  erection  be  continued  in 
the  same  style  ?  375. 

Sublime  (The),  163. 

Symmetry,  307. 

T. 

Taste,  134  ;  as  popularly  understood, 
127. 

Technics  of  art,  124. 
Thought  and  emotion,  382. 
Treatment  of  masses,  307. 

U. 

Ugly  (The),  162. 

V. 

Vitruvius  on  proportion,  59. 
W. 

Winckelmann  on  the  essence  of 
beauty,  141. 


f 

MP  u 


